


Battles to Come

by Dantana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 59,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10012046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dantana/pseuds/Dantana
Summary: Half of the pack is back in Winterfell.  The exiled dragon has returned to her birthplace in search of home.  The Lions will begin circling each other while the wandering wolves will seek their own paths home.  Winter has just began and the storm is gathering strength.  The Night's King and his army will not be contained by a wall.





	1. JON

**JON**

 

****_King in the North_.  The words tasted bitter in his mouth.  He couldn’t bring himself to swallow them just yet but he could already feel the weight of them in the pit of his stomach, anchoring him to a life he was not sure he wanted.  The lords and lady who had proclaimed him their King may have thought that they were bestowing an honor upon him but Jon knew better.  No crown had been placed on his head but the minute the words had been uttered by Lord Manderly, Jon felt the plunge of the first knife piercing his body.  Instead of Thorne it was Manderly doing the stabbing with the sharp cry of _White Wolf_. And then the other knives came as echoes when the rest of the lords took on the chant of _King in the North_.  Jon had been there before, looking down at men who had elected him their leader without first asking his blessing.  Men who had asked to be led and then betrayed him when his leadership was not to their liking.

_A bastard placed on the highest seat of power and leading highborn men_.  Perhaps not unprecedented, he had heard the tale of Bael the Bard, the daughter of Winterfell and their bastard son who came to be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.  But those were only tales and even if they were true, Jon did not forget that Lord Eddard was survived by more children. Children who unlike him were trueborn.

_King in the North_.  He had turned to look at his sister and she in turn returned his attention with a smile.  But somehow it didn’t ring true.  Jon didn’t want to think about the uneasiness he felt when he thought about his sister.  He wanted to trust her, fully embrace her but there was a void between them he couldn’t do away with. That void grew larger whenever he thought about the Knights of the Vale and their sudden appearance at the bloody battle against the Bolton forces.  Jon had told his sister that he understood her secrecy.  But he didn’t.  _The lives that could have been saved had they known that help was on their way_.  He had made mistakes too, mistakes she had warned him about but— _what’s the point now_?  _Do I scold my sister, does she scold me?  She’s my sister, father’s daughter, I owe it to him and to Robb and Rickon and even to Lady Catelyn to watch over her.  She’s the only family I got._ And suddenly he remembered a skinny sword and its skinny wielder whose smile he wouldn’t need to second-guess.

“Jon, are you okay?”

Her voice startled him and guilt washed all over him.  _Sansa is as much my sister as Arya_. He turned and gave her a the semblance of a smile.

“I apologize my lady, I was lost in thought and did not hear you approaching.”  

Sansa’s lips began to form a word but she suddenly paused, thought the better of it and said:

“All the lords and lady have been accommodated in the empty chambers, I’m afraid their men won’t be as comfortable though.  Winterfell is not what it used to be, Ramsay saw to that.”

“Ramsay is gone but this castle will be restored and will endured even after we are gone. There will always be a Stark in Winterfell.” He said it almost to himself.

“A Stark in Winterfell,” she echoed softly and that brought him back.

“Winterfell is yours Sansa,” he said. “Please don’t ever think otherwise.”

Sansa made a move to speak but Jon interrupted her.  “I will lead because the real enemy is out there and a North united is the only way we can hope to survive the storm.  But I don’t for a minute forget that I am a bastard and my siblings true borns.  Winterfell is yours by right and Bran’s and Arya’s if they ever return.”

“And yours,” said his sister. 

He approached tentatively and briefly kissed her forehead. “I won’t usurp my siblings.”

“You didn’t take anything that was not offered, brother.” She said more coldly than she had intended. “The lords made you an offer you could not refuse.  I understand that. All I ask is that you don’t get yourself killed.”  She closed the gap between them and gave her brother a quick embraced and then turn and left without ever looking him the eye.

_King in the North_.  Jon never felt so lonely.

 


	2. Sansa / Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Sansa chapter fragmented in two for a quick glimpse at Jon. Just working out the dynamics of how they both feel about their new situation and place in the world.

**SANSA**

 

Sansa had woken before the sun made an appearance and after a while of tossing and turning, she wondered if the sun would ever come out now that Winter was finally here.  But the sun eventually rose as Sansa walked into the kitchens.  There were many lords that needed tending, not to mention a King.  Many things were expected of the Lady of the House and she did not mean to disappoint even if she largely went unacknowledged by those who should be her bannermen but instead chose to bend the knee to her half brother.

She should have been happy.  Ramsay had died by her own doing, it had been the first time she was able to exercise her will without fear of retribution.  In all his furor, Jon was able to step back and give her the moment she had desired every minute of every day since the monster first took her that night.  Jon was everything her father had taught him to be. Lord Eddard would certainly be proud of him but that somehow was not enough to make her put her guard down.  Lady Brienne had asked her why she had withheld information from Jon and Sansa had stayed silent then because she truly didn’t know the answer.  And the more she saw of Jon, the more she didn’t understand why she couldn’t bring herself to truly embraced him.

_I thought I had left that stupid girl behind_ , she thought.  The girl who saw an evil prince as divine and looked down upon her bastard half-brother who had never been anything but decent to her and to every one of her siblings. _Bastard_.  _Maybe that is it_ , she told herself. _They are all bastards. Joffrey, Ramsay and Jon. Joffrey was evil, Ramsay was worse and Jon, what is he going to become now that a crown has been placed upon his head_?  It was well known that bastards fell prey to their lesser nature no matter their bloodline.  _But it was not bastards that planned the Red Wedding, stupid girl_.  Tywin Lannister, Roose Bolton and Walder Frey, all highborn and mighty lords. They and their corrupted bloodline were responsible for the death of most of her family.  But Jon was her father’s blood and her father was the best man she had ever known. 

 

**JON**

 

Morning had caught Jon as open-eyed as night had left him.  His death had been the last time he remember resting and even then people had thought to manipulate his destiny by making decisions for him. But he was no God and he needed the rest, he knew that.  Perhaps he could ask a maester, if there was one available, for milk of the poppy to help him sleep but for now the North awaited him.

He took off his tunic and approached the nearest basin to wash himself, catching his reflection on a mirror.  The death marks were there glistening on his skin, still raw, bringing pain in unexpected moments. _All for the best_ , he thought.  _Let them serve me as a reminder that daggers are all around me_.  He also saw the blue and black patches adorning his torso, reminders of battle, reminders of life.  Then Jon proceeded to stare into his own eyes seeking life but instead saw death.  _You know nothing, Jon Snow_.  He smiled to himself then and began to laugh and cry. He wanted to mourn for who he was and for who he will now need to be.

 

**SANSA**

 

Of the servants already toiling at the kitchens, Sansa recognized none.  Her time in Winterfell during the Bolton reign had been mostly spent locked up in her chambers.  She had been a prisoner but even if she had not been, whatever idea she may have had about befriending the small folk inside the castle died the day she saw the flayed body of the elderly woman who had pledged to help her. 

All the servants stopped abruptly as she made her entrance, bowing their heads.  She acknowledged them with a nod.

“Who is in charged of the kitchens?”

“I am milady,” answered a haggard woman who had trouble holding her gaze.  

“Your name?”

“Adela, milady”

“Tell me Adela, how long have you been working the kitchens at Winterfell.”

“Been here less than a year, milady.  I used to run the kitchen at the Twins but when milady married lord Bolton, she asked her lord father for me as a wedding present.  Lady Walda so loved to eat and she felt there was none better than me in the kitchen.”

_I don’t remember her_ , thought Sansa as she stared at this woman in silence, hoping, somehow that that would help her gauche if she was friend or foe.  _She comes from the Twins, from a house of traitors and it might be time for her to return hom_ e.

“The Twins? Then I assume that you are used to feeding a large number of people?”

“I am, milady.”

“We have a number of visitors that’ll need feeding for a while. We don’t intend to throw feasts everyday, hard days are coming and we need to be mindful.”  Sansa spoke loud to the entire room.  “But Winterfell has always been generous and our King will welcome his subjects as they deserve.”

“And the King, milady,” asked Adela. “What would it take to please him?”

“What indeed?” His voice came as a whisper but Sansa didn’t need to turn to know that Lord Baelish has just entered the kitchens.  The workers all bowed their heads.

Sansa didn’t acknowledge him, instead she continued addressing the help. “The King  cares little for extravagances or luxuries.  He values hard work and loyalty. Our job is to make his life easier as he leads us through these difficult times. Any concerns with the run of the house should come to me.  Understood?”

Ay, milady,” came the chorus of voices.

Sansa finally turned, Littlefinger stood there just as she imagined him.  Smiling his creepy smile. He bowed his head to greet her.  

“Lord Baelish, what brings you to the kitchens?  May we be or service? Or perhaps you’ve simply took a wrong turn?” 

“My lady, thank you for your concern but I can assure you that I’m not a man to take wrong turns.  I came to the kitchens to find you.”

“And here I am.”

“And here you are.”  He smiled again. “Would you do me the honor of escorting me to the Godswood? I find it rather a peaceful place.”

The Godswood, her father’s special place and now Little Finger would defile it with his presence once more but he was not a man to discard just yet.  He was a weapon at her disposal but one who could turn against her in an instant.  Dangerous, perhaps too much, but Sansa needed weapons if she was to secure her safety and her home.  What Little Finger may ask of her besides the obvious, she could only guess. 

“I would love to my lord, shall we make our way now or would you rather break your fast before a prayer?” 

“It would do me good to unburden my soul before feeding my body, my lady.  There are things that need to be said-”  He gave her an intense look before he continued “before the Old Gods.”

“As you wish my lord.” 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. JON/SANSA

** JON **

 

Jon was late.  He had intended to start his day before the crack of dawn as there were so many people and things that needed tending.  But the tears that had come to him so unexpectedly had left their mark and the _King in the North_ should never show any weakness.  The Kings in the North had also been the Kings of Winter and this is now who he needed to be to lead his people through the approaching storm.  

_Kill the boy, Jon Snow, kill the boy and the let the man be born_.  He could still hear maester Aemon’s urgent plea.  Jon hadn’t killed the boy, others had done it for him but his rebirth had brought no sudden wisdom or valor.  Maybe the man was someone Jon had to construct piece by piece.  Jon sighed at that thought as he looked through his window trying to gauge the early going ons of the castle.  That is when he saw them.  His sister and Lord Baelish taking a stroll, heading int the direction of the Godswood.  _Why would you take him there Sansa?_   he thought.  _He’s not of the North, he has no right to the place._   Jon didn’t really know Petyr Baelish, didn’t even know of Petyr Baelish other than what his sister had deemed appropriate to share.  Jon knew he had helped her escape Kings Landing just to turn around and sell her to the Boltons.  _Only a fool would trust Littlefinger,_ she had told him.  And yet here he was walking around Winterfell, side by side with Lady Stark, whispering Gods know what in her ear.  Jon didn’t know Petyr Baelish and he didn’t want to know him.  _The longer he lingers the more trouble he’ll cause and I have no time to play Southron games_.  With that thought, Jon left his chambers and walked into his new life.

 

** SANSA **

 

“Did you mother visit this place often?”

“My lady mother followed the Seven but she often visited as she knew father would seek solace among the weirwood trees.”

“The honorable Ned Stark,” he said with a malicious smirk that Sansa found infuriating “this place is as solemn as he was.  I wonder what he would make of me standing here?”

“What is it that you want to discuss Lord Baelish? I am sure you didn’t ask me here to discuss my father.”

“Why, he’s the very topic I wanted to discuss.”

Sansa looks at him impassively, masking all and any emotion or thought.  

“Do you think your father would approve of a bastard taking over the birthright of his children?”

“Father acknowledged Jon and raised him our equal.  Jon is his son, Stark blood runs through his veins, father would be proud of the man he’s become.”

“Equal? Where did Snow sit during King Robert’s visit? Did he not sit way in the back away from the family’s table? Were he your equal, he would have sat with the rest of his siblings.”

“I am sure father would have preferred he did but mother—”

“Can you blame Cat? She had to swallow her pride and accept your honorable father’s mistake into her household. How do you think she would feel about him usurping her true born children?”

“Mother is dead. Were she alive she may not have approved but what is done is done. Robb is dead, Rickon is dead. Bran? He’s not here and neither is Arya.”

“But you are and this is your birthright not the bastard’s who now sits in the highest chair.”

“Careful, Lord Baelish, you speak of a King now.  Bastard or not.”

“Are you going to tell on me Lady Stark?”  Littlefinger’s eyes smiled with malice as he circled her, trying to fracture the composure she’s barely upholding.  “You are not, because deep down you know I am right.  I did warn you my lady, you should have taken my advice.”

Sansa gives him the sweetest smile possible, she even makes her eyes comply.  “Tell me truth, my lord.  Were you expecting the Northern lords to do anything other than what they did?”

“Did I expect them to usurp you my lady?  No.  But I did think they may need a little push to support your ladyship, had you allowed me I would have secured their support before they came up with ideas of their own.  Ideas that are not wise or beneficial to our cause?”

“To our cause? The Iron Throne is a southern ambition, a game my brother and I have no interest in playing.”

“This game is an absolute necessity, my love, for anyone wearing a crown. You were born to be Queen and you know it.  Did you not feel elated when Joffrey chose you as his future queen?  Did you not have a vision of what your life would be? What you always wanted it to be? You can still have that.”

“There was a time when I was a different person, my lord, with different wants and dreams.  Whoever that girl was -and I do remember her, my lord, do not think I do not- that girl is gone. And do you know why I choose to remember her?

Littlefinger says nothing but the smirk continues to mock her.

“I choose to remember her so that I never again fall for summer dreams.  So that I am never again blinded by lies, so that I remember what the girl lost due to her stupidity.  I am a Stark, my lord.  We are of winter, we are of snow.  See the roots of these trees here? His Grace and I are rooted here, just like them and we’ll weathered whatever storm comes our way.”

“A lovely sentiment, my lady. Lovely but naive as a summer child.  There will come a time when your King is forced to take a Queen, what will you do then?  Play aunt to the future heirs, watch them usurp the lands and titles that were meant for your children and the children of your true born siblings?  Will you stand quietly to the side while this new Queen turns Winterfell into whatever she wants it to be?  A bear’s den, perhaps?

“Lady Lyanna is but a child.”

“A child that won’t remain one for long.  A formidable girl at her early age and so ardently a supporter of the new King.  Why, she’s the one who crowned him after all.  Why do you think that is?”

To this Sansa had nothing to say.  She could think of dozens of legitimate reasons why Lady Mormont would be so inclined to follow Jon.  She saw him in battle, she witnessed his selfless disregard for his own safety when he abandoned all caution to save his true born brother.  To any proud northerner that would be reason enough.  Sansa hated to even think about it but were she in Lyanna’s place, would she not be taken with Jon? Wasn’t she almost as young as Lyanna when she first laid eyes on Joffrey?  I _was a silly girl, Lyanna is anything but silly_.

 

 


	4. JON

** JON **

 

“Your grace, do you think it wise?

“This is an unprecedented war, Lady Mormont,”  Jon told her kindly as her question was a fair one to make even if Jon was already losing patience with all the back and forth with his bannermen. “Whatever decisions we make from now on will be burdened with risk.  There’s no safe choice. There is a war coming from beyond the Wall, we could run South and abandon the North to the enemy but that will only prolong the inevitable.  Sooner or later, the enemy will march South and without due opposition they will do away with everyone in their path and the Long Night would have come again.”

“But they can’t breach the Wall.” Lord Cerwyn chimed in. “My old master, he would go on and on about the magic in the Wall, how it was created to protect us from Wildlings and Others alike.”

“Aye, I heard the tale as well. And it might even be true. But for all that magic, I myself have climbed that Wall  successfully, as have others.  And I’ve seen iced creatures immune to fire and an ice king able to raise the dead from the ground and command their every move.  We can’t just stack up for Winter and close our gates to the world and hope that the Wall will keep us safe.”

“Snow.” Jon’s eyes found Tormund in the back where he often sat.  He nodded in his direction allowing him to continue.  The unease between the lords had not lessen much at the presence of the “invaders” but at least they now tried to mask their disapproval in front of their king.

“Many in this room are still reluctant to believe what they have yet to see with their own eyes.” Some grunts of protest bounced off the walls, still Tormund continued.  “But you _northerners_ have at least heard the tales told about the Long Night and are as reluctant to deny the enemy’s existence as you are to accept it.  Do you think these southern kneelers will heed your advise?  Might be the fierce lady has a point.  Might be it isn’t wise to involve the South in affairs of the North.”

“You fought with me at Hard home, Tormund.  Did you not?

“Aye, you know I did.”

“Did the enemy attack free folk and crows alike?

“They did. We all made a pretty addition to their army.”

“Why do you then think this is only a Northern matter when you know that they’ll come and due away with everything and everyone?

“His grace is correct,” interceded Davos. “This war, the real war, involves all of Westeros. If we are to survive then South and North must fight as one.”

Then she spoke up.  His sister who had been quiet all night looking at the men around her, as if trying to decipher them.

“How do you propose, Sir Davos, we get Cersei Lannister, the Mad Queen do they not call her now, to send forces in our aid when we all know she’ll soon rather see us dead?”

Davos bowed his head while considering her question, there was no hesitancy when he finally answered.

“If the rumors are true, Queen Cersei is no doubt beyond reason but not all the Southern lords can be cast under the same shadow, can they? What about what remains of High Garden? Will the Queen of Thornes not come to our aid?  Surely she will not side with the woman who is believed to have butchered her entire family?  How about the troops from Dorne? We must try to reach as many.  Now, I am not saying we’ll reach all or be heard by all but we must try.”

“We must try,” Jon said gently while looking at Sansa. “We’ll need them.”  Then his eyes traveled, it seems, to each and every lord in the room. “Believe me my lords and ladies when I say that what comes is nothing like we have seen in our lives.  If it were in my power, I will shield the North from the storm but I cannot.  Nor do I believe it fair that the North shoulder the burden alone. Their southern games cost us many lives already and I would love for nothing more than to leave them at their bloody game, watching as they foolishly eliminate one another.  But this is the type of foolhardy attitude that we can no longer afford. We’ll need every able body to stand a chance and if nothing else, we owe them a warning.  For whatever they have done, whatever they have cost us, there are still good, innocent people among them who must be given a choice. I ask that you stand behind me on this decision.” 

The noise increased intensely as Jon’s last word hung on the air.  There was no unison of thought.  There never was. Jon wished, not for the first time, that he had the gift of wit, the gift to inspire unquestioned loyalty at mere words.  People followed him, yes, but it was never without immense effort.  He felt exhausted and this was only the very beginning of his rule.  He turned towards Sansa and she held his gaze, could she tell how burdensome this was on him? He wanted Sansa to know, he needed Sansa to know, else he was all alone.  Sansa kept her mask but unseen to anyone else, she reached underneath the table and laid her hand on his knee.  It felt like a hug somehow, in all the loneliness Sansa extended a hand if only briefly and that gave him hope that maybe she would stand by him as he was willing to stand by her. Lost in this thought, Jon realized Lord Royce had taken the floor.

“I am not of the North and neither are my men yet here we all are.  We came at Lady Sansa’s call in her hour of need.  We could not march in aid of the Young Wolf but we stand behind the White Wolf.  Lord Eddard was a man of honor, his son must be one as well.  Would Ned allowed the rest of Westeros to suffer without warning?  You knew your liege lord better than I did.”

“He would not.” Lord Manderly stood up. “In the hour of our greatest need, the wolves came to our rescue and sheltered us when no one else would.  The Ned, the man that he was, in spite of everything, would never allowed the innocent to be slaughtered so.  I clamor vengeance, I wish I could take every remaining Frey, every remaining Lannister and extinguish their lives with my own  hands.  But our King says that we have yet to see the real enemy, that we have yet to fight the real war and I believe him.  If the south needs to be warned, then let’s warn them. Let’s not waste more time with words.

At this there was an eery silence broken once again by Manderly’s booming voice. “Your Grace, we knelt before you and gave you our swords to command. Command.”

 

 

 


	5. SANSA / Jon

** SANSA **

 

The evening had gone well after Lord Manderly reaffirmed the North’s willingness to follow their King on whatever path he set them forth.  Yet Jon’s uneasiness was palpable even after they found themselves alone in the solar.  Sansa could feel his exhaustion, she was exhausted too.  She didn’t really trust her half brother to be the King the North really needed, he lacked the cunning, the malice.  Jon was, ironically she thought, the prodigious knight described in all the tales she devoured as a child.  None of the knights she met in real life were as noble, as fierce, as chivalrous as Jon had proven to be.  _And those qualities will be his end. And mine if I am not careful._  

Sansa stared at Jon while he poured over maps, his long day far from over.  He had told her that she was free to retire for the night but she refused claiming not to be tired enough.  In truth she had decided that she needed to be the last voice in Jon’s head every night before he retired to bed.  _This is how she was going to play the game._ Her voice would never be raised in council, at least not during this delicate period of securing the support of those who never came to their aid when first called upon.  If it were up to her, under different circumstances, Sansa would have had their heads and their lands.  But her King, despite betrayals suffered, still believed in second chances.  Pragmatically, Sansa understood Jon’s reasonings.  The North could not afford strife among them, particularly if, as he claimed, the walkers were coming.  Yet, she had seen enough of Jon in action to also know that Jon’s heart and sense of decency spoke strongly in him.

“What are you looking at?” Jon broke her reverie. 

“Nothing in particular, I was just lost in thought.”

“For a minute there, I thought you took after the Red Woman, who spent hours looking at the dancing flames.”

“Melisandre, right? You know I never spoke with her. I don’t think she liked me much.  Did she ever tell you what she saw in the flames?”

“Daggers, enemies, the lowering of the Bolton banners.”

“She had power then?”

“I was dead and now I’m here.  I guess you could say she had power.”

“A power you may, we may, still need. And you let her go?”

“You know why I did that.”

“To make Sir Davos happy.  I hope the Onion Knight is worth it.”

“Sir Davos was in the right to want her head.  Under different circumstances I would have had her head myself for burning that innocent child.  But she saved me and I had to compromise. But I couldn’t keep her.  The North are of the Old Gods, we may kneel to outsiders when the occasion calls but we don’t kneel to other Gods.”

“She is a very beautiful woman.”  Sansa reflected.

“She is.”

“Did you ever-“ Sansa couldn’t finish but by the look he gave her, she knew he understood. She also notice a blush creeping down his neck.  She suddenly felt hot so she knew she was blushing too.

“No.  She did try once but I refused.”

“Your vows?”

“No. I loved another.”  To this, Sansa raised an eyebrow.  Suddenly an urgent need to know took over.

“Should I expect this other to be your Queen in the future.”

Jon’s eyes grew sadder, if that was ever possible. “No, she’s gone.”  Then a tiny smile crept on his face.  “Though, I can only imagine what the Northern Lords would have said about having a wildling as a Queen.”

“A wildling?”  

“Yes.  She was kissed by fire.”  Sansa knitted her eyebrows in response.

“She had red hair, kissed by fire.”  Jon added trying to explain.

“Like mine?  Jon looked at her sister as if seeing her for the first time.  He hadn’t really made the connection but yes Sansa had red hair, but not Ygritte’s red.

“Not as furious as the Tully red. More like those flames that you were so intently staring at.”

“Was she .  . . was she your first?

“My first, aye, my only, my last, may be.”  Jon turned his eyes to the flames once more but just before he did, Sansa could swear she saw his eyes glistening with unbidden tears.  _He’s loved then_. This thought kept her quiet for a while.

“How does it feel, Jon? How does it feel to love someone so? Describe it to me.”

“Sansa, I am not a poet.”

“I am not asking for poetry. I’ve read poems about love and they all lied to me.  I’m asking you to tell me how this wildling girl made you feel.  I want a good man to tell me what love is because then I can trust in its existence.

Jon hesitated, clearly uncomfortable.  But Sansa’s eyes kept pleading, he sighed and gave her what she wanted.

“Ygritte made me feel like I was no longer alone in the world.  Oft times, it felt like it was just the two of us in a sea of people.  I was hers and she was mine and that was all that matter.  When she died, an ache, a void, took over and I’m not sure it will ever go away. 

Sansa is so wrapped in his words, watching his lips move that she jumps at the sudden knock at the door.

“Your Grace.”  Sir Davos’ voice comes through the door.

Jon gets up and walks to the door, opening it.

“Sir Davos, anything wrong?”

“Apologies your Grace, my Lady.  Would have preferred not to disturb you but a raven has just come and the maester alerted me right away upon seeing its seal.”

“Is it news from the Mad Queen?” Sansa asked.

“It might be but perhaps not the Lannister Queen.  Here, have a look.”  

Davos hands the scroll to Jon. He takes it and turns to the seal, his eyes wide.

“Targaryen. The three headed dragon.”  Sansa walks towards Jon.

“The dragon queen? Read it Jon.”

Jon’s thumb caresses the seal for a second before breaking it.

“ _Jon, it has been a lifetime since I saw you last. Little birds tell me that your fortunes have turned dramatically and you are no longer at the Wall freezing your ass off.  You are now the man the Northern lords kneel to.  Congratulations are in order.  As for me, I’m still a dwarf if you can believe that, but one that now aims to cast a larger shadow.  I write this as hand of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and Mother of Dragons.  Her Grace has landed in the stronghold of her ancestors, Dragonstone, and is now ready to reacquire the Iron throne and re-establish Targaryen rule.  Daenerys, wise as she is, understands that our lands have bled enough.  She does not seek violence without first offering alliances.  You are the head of the North, along with the Lady Sansa. and thus the Queen would call upon your visit to discuss terms in which the North may join her in establishing a united Kingdom.  I look forward to seeing you, Jon Snow, King in the North.  Your friend, Tyrion Lannister_.”

“Tyrion?”  Sansa asks incredulously. 

“She _summons_ us,” Jon adds with a hint of sarcasm “but at least she was smart enough to have someone we are familiar with do so on her behalf.”  

“Will we go?”

“I will go. You will not.”

“Why not?  It is a summon for the both of us, I am lady of Winterfell in my own right.  I want to meet this Dragon Queen.”

_There it is,_ Jon thinks sadly.  T _he bitterness seeping through her again_.

“This Queen is rumored to have three dragons, is she not?  Jon asks.

“Those are the rumors, your Grace.” Davos responds. “Three dragons, along with a large army of unsullied.”

“How do we know,” Jon asks looking directly at Sansa, “that her intentions are not to kills us upon arrival?

“Tyrion says the she looks for alliances . . .”

“I have no children, Sansa.  Rickon is dead and Bran is missing.  Who inherits my title upon my death?”

“I do,” Sansa accedes. 

“We will not give this Queen both Starks on a silver platter for her to decapitate the North in a single swoop.  Will we?”

Sansa bites her lip, she does not want to admit he’s right.  She hadn’t thought it through but now that she did, a fear rises in her, a fear of what this Dragon Queen may do with Jon.  Suddenly, Sansa panics at the thought of losing their King.  Killing him isn’t the only way, she could take him away. 

She grabs Jon’s arm violently.  “Jon, let me go instead. If her intentions are not honorable, it is better that I suffer the consequences.  We can hardly afford to lose our King. Tyrion was my husband once, I do not think he’ll let her harm me.”

“Sansa, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.  You are a Stark.  It is on you to lead our people.  You have been South and suffered the consequences.  I cannot, I will not, expose you to any more danger if it can be control.”

Sansa keeps quiet.

“When will you tell your bannermen, your Grace?” Davos asks.

“On the morrow but I will not put it to a vote. We had already decided to warn southerners, and this doesn’t change things.  We were heading to Dragonstone regardless.  Sir Davos you are very familiar with the stronghold, are you not?

“I am, your Grace.”

“Jon.  Just call me Jon, please.”

Davos nods. “I know the castle in and out, it served me well during the siege.”

“Good.  It might be useful to know escaping routes if it ever came to that.”

 


	6. JON

**JON**

 

Jon was no longer surprised at the outburst the news brought in the morning.  Every single day had seen outbursts, Jon wondered if may be he ought to command more and listen less.  

“She will want you to kneel, your Grace.  And we no longer kneel.”  Lord Manderly protests.

“Should our king not kneel if confronted by fire-breathing dragons?  Our king has proven brave but I’m not certain we can ask for that type of bravery,”  Lord Glover counters. 

The back and forth that commenced once more was maddening.  It was as if they had forgotten that their King was there.

“Enough.” Jon says forcefully.  “I don’t intend to kneel to anyone without due cause and I don’t intend on dying by fire.  We don’t know what this Dragon Queen is. She may be as mad as her father or she may not.  We don’t know her intentions.  I do know that Tyrion Lannister is at her side and-”

“A kinslayer”  Lord Manderly spits out.

“Aye, Tywin Lannister’s killer.  Tywin Lannister who set forth the murder of my brother, our King, Lady Stark and your own son Lord Manderly.  Tyrion may be accursed before the Gods but do not ask me to cry over his father.”

“He forcefully wed the Lady Sansa, did he not?” asks Lady Lyanna.

“He did.”  Sansa answers. “But he himself was forced and to his credit, he never forced himself upon me and tried to protect me as best he could.” 

“Is he someone to be trusted?”  asks Lord Cerwyn.

“The Imp,” Lord Baelish says almost in a whisper “is a cunning little man but I trust that he hates his sister and would align with anyone who helps him destroy her.”

“I think the Lord Tyrion would not choose to harm our king of his own volition” Sansa adds.

“Who will accompany your Grace?  asks Lord Glover. “You will need a guard.”  

“Sir Davos will come with me.  As for a guard, I need no more than six loyal men.”

The room grew louder then.

“Surely, your Grace, you cannot be serious.  You need to show this queen that you have the entire North behind you.  That the _King in the North_ is not someone to be dismissed.”  Lord Manderly’s voice booms over everyone else’s. 

“If I show up with a large contingency of armed men, am I not hinting at suspicion and fear?  I do not fear her.”

“His Grace is correct,” chimes in Davos.  “She is at the moment no more than a self-proclaimed queen, Jon Snow is a crowned King, chosen by his people.  She may have dragons but he has the legitimacy of the largest region of Westeros.  If this Dragon Queen is sensible then I think there should be no reason to fear bodily harm unto our king.”

“And if she’s mad like Aerys or like Rhaegar? Our king will be the next Stark to die by a Targaryen’s hand.  Your Grace, I urge you to remember your grandfather and uncle and aunt, all slaughtered by the dragons.  You said that the storm is coming and you vowed to lead us through it.  And yet you are willing to risk your life so unnecessarily?”  Lord Manderly adds in what seems genuine disbelief.

“I risk my life, my Lord, but I will not risk my people.  It may be that your fears are validated but if so, I die but the North continues.  Lady Stark is my heir and a capable leader and I know that I leave her surrounded my men who will protect her and the Stark’s legacy because the North remembers. And if Sir Davos speaks the truth and this Targaryen queen needs allies, we do as well.  She has fighting men and three fire breathing dragons.  The dead are destroyed by fire.”

“Aye, they are.” Tormund grunts.

“And Dragonstone has the obsidian we will desperately need if we have any chance of killing the Others,” continues Jon.

The room grows quiet at that.  Jon keeps going.

“Lord Glover, I beseech you to gather a few men and travel our lands.  We need to get word out to every man, woman and child in the North about what is to come.  Winter is here, we’ll need to secure resources and make sure everyone who can be protected is.  Every lord must shelter the small folk in their surrounding area.  Be blunt, everyone who perishes will only come back to fight us.”

“I will your Grace.”

“Lord Cerwyn.”

“Your Grace?”

“The Crannogmen. They must be reached somehow.”

“Lord Reed and his people haven’t been heard from in years.  They did not lay their swords before the Young Wolf in his hour of need. They may not welcome any visit to their lands, even one by another Northerner.”

“Lord Reed saved my father’s life during the Rebellion and father spoke very kindly of him, he said none would be more loyal.  It is in Lord Eddard’s name that I request you do your best to reach or send word to Greywater Watch.”

Lord Cerwyn bows his head and Jon now looks at Lord Manderly.

“And you Lord Manderly, you did not fight for the Starks during the recent battle.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Manderly interrupts a bit indignant, a shade of red creeping up his neck. Jon raises his hand.

“It may be that any enemies down South may not look upon you as a traitor or as a threat.  From you, Lord Manderly, I request that you travel South and do your best to reach the Riverlands and raise the voice.  Might be better to reach the small folk first and then some of the lords.  I don’t expect you to meet with the Freys and I would not ask.  Would you do this for me?”

“I will, my King.”

“Lord Baelish, Lord Royce, the North values the hand extended and we will forever be grateful for your timely intervention in past battles.”

Littlefinger slightly nods to acknowledge Jon.

“The Vale and the North are allies now and then.  I do urge you to warn your people as well.  The Eyrie is perhaps the most safeguarded castle in the entire Westeros and you may shelter your people there but I do hope your able and brave men will come to stand with us when the time comes to meet the real enemy.  Can I count on you?

“The Starks can count on us.”  Littlefinger promptly answers.

The _Starks_ thinks Jon.  Maybe to most of the attendees, that little moment meant nothing but Jon knows better.  Littlefinger for all his manipulation was being nothing if not blunt about where his support stood.  Jon was not a Stark.  He looks at his sister while answering.

“And the Starks, thank you, my lord.”

Sansa holds his gaze and then turns her attention to Baelish.  “Lord Baelish, please do tell my sweet cousin Lord Arryn, how truly grateful my brother and I are that his forces came to our rescue.  The Starks and the entire North will remember their solidarity.  Wherever they are, I’m sure my lord father and the late Lord Robert Arryn are content that our bonds of friendship are still as strong as when our houses joined to overthrow a tyrannical King.”

“The Lord Robert Arryn would have indeed heed your call, your Grace, my Lady”  intercedes Lord Royce. “We knew your father well.  We loved your father well.”

“Thank you, Lord Royce. I bid you and your men good travels-”

“Will you not ride up to the Neck with us on the morrow, your Grace?” Lord Royce addresses Jon.

“I think it best, we all depart separately.  If Lannister men or Greyjoy reavers are out there we don’t want to engage in battle unless we have to.  We all have places and people to reach and we need to protect as many lives as possible.  We’ll need them all, I promise.”

“Who commands in your stead, your Grace?” asks Lady Mormont and Jon is not surprised to hear her ask the obvious.  The Lady of Bear Island has yet to warm up to his lady sister.

“My only heir, Lady Mormont, the Lady of Winterfell, the Princess in the North, Sansa Stark.”

Lady Mormont is about to retort when Jon cuts her off gently.

“These are unstable, threatening and violent times.  I recognize that my lady sister is not a commander but she is more than adept to run Winterfell and the North in my absence.  She’ll have the counsel necessary when she needs it.  But I trust in her judgement and in her love for the entire North.”

“Hear, hear” various voices echo as one.

“As for you Lady Mormont, your council and your support have been invaluable.  Your house was the first to offer us support in our most trying time, even when supporting us made you vulnerable to attack.  We will understand if you wanted to go back to Bear Island and secure your people but my sister and I would also welcome your stay at Winterfell.  We all benefit from your wisdom and strength.”

“My brother speaks truth, my lady.” adds Sansa.  “I would be forever grateful if you decide to stay as my counsel while our Grace is away.”

At this, Jon notices Littlefinger giving his sister a queer look.  He can’t fathom what is going on through his mind but Sansa and he had agreed that this was the course to take when deciding how to break the news to their bannermen.  The Mormonts were incredibly tough and loyal but small in number.  If attacked, Jon knew that the bears would fight to death to protect their Lady but would eventually succumb.  It was the Starks’ duty to look out for them, Lady Lyanna was safer at Winterfell, at least that was the hope.  

Jon also believe that the Lady’s presence was good for his sister.  _She’s a bit like Arya_ , thought Jon. Arya. May be if the Gods were good he would find her somewhere south and bring her home.

 

 

 

 


	7. ARYA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short visit with Arya.

**ARYA**

 

News had broke all around the Riverlands about the murder of old Walder Frey and the disappearance of his two oldest sons.  Arya noticed that there was little grieving, instead the positioning for power had began almost immediately among the remaining sons and grandsons. The Frey women went about their business but the fear was palpable in their eyes.  _They know_ , Arya thinks to herself as the servants begin whispering the tale of the Rat Cook. _They know their comeuppance has come_. 

_And Gods had nothing to do with it_ , she muses. The Old Gods, the Seven, the Many Faced God, they all had failed her the same.  The Old Gods had allowed her father to be executed by an abomination, the Seven had turned deaf to her lady mother’s prayers and had watched impassive as she and her son were brutally murdered. The Many Faced God had not lifted a finger to help her without first asking for blood and even then Arya had not found any answers to her prayers.  No, she was done with Gods.  If her family was to be avenged, then she herself would do it.

The Freys were paying the price for breaking guest right.  From time to time, Arya wondered what price she would need to pay for betraying the honor her lord father had so tried to instilled in all his children.  _I’ve already paid too much, there is nothing that can be taken away from me that would matter more than what has already been taken_.

Then she’d remember Jon Snow and she clearly knew she was wrong. Arya thought about her sister Sansa often, she even hoped to be able to see her again but it was Jon who kept her Arya Stark for so long.  It was the thought of Jon who made her still consider honor from time to time, even though her need for vengeance often opaqued any other virtue.

She had planned on fleeing The Twins right after slicing the old man’s throat, fleeing as fast as she could to make her way to Winterfell where the Boltons waited her judgement.  But the thought of so many Freys still walking the earth while her brother and mother did not, anchored her to this land that once belonged to her mother’s family.  Then there was also the rumor of the captive Edmure Tully.  She did not remember ever meeting her uncle but he was her mother’s blood and that was enough for Arya.  More Freys needed to die and Edmure had to retake what was rightfully his.  Winterfell would wait for her.

 


	8. TYRION

**TYRION**

 

Tyrion had never been to Dragonstone before.  He had been a child when the castle belonged to the Targaryens and as a man grown he did not find Stannis Baratheon amiable enough to pay him a visit once he was granted hold of the legendary castle by his brother Robert.

Now, walking the grounds, he found the castle as somber as its most recent lord, devoid of warmth or emotion.  Perhaps it had been a different castle when Rhaegar held it.  Regardless, there could not  have been a place more apt for the return of the exiled Targaryen Princess who had returned to her birthplace with three living dragons, ready to lay claim to the crown that had belonged to her family for centuries before the Rebellion.

Tyrion was almost envious of the way Daenerys had wandered around the castle tirelessly upon their arrival.  Exploring every dark corner as if expecting the entirety of the castle to divulge every secret of the family she never actually met.  He had seen the child that she still was in many ways.  The lost girl trying to capture the essence of something she's never had and perhaps never will.  She was likely the last of her kind.

_She’s young though.  Young, beautiful and powerful.  Soon a King will come and princess and princesses will follow._ It occurred to Tyrion that the least likely Targaryen might be the one to restore a lost dynasty.  And the least likely Lannister may help her achieve it.  But to do that more alliances were needed.  Alliances based on something stronger than vengeance and hate which is what the Queen of Thorns and the Sand Snakes were offering.  

Daenerys had been impressed with Oleanna, she was powerful, blunt and cunning but Tyrion was not sure she would be able to command the Tyrell army for long.  She was not a Tyrell and men were fickle and ambitious, Highgarden was a mighty price to be had.  And the Snakes?  They had murdered Doran and his heir without hesitation and without a legitimate excuse. Tyrion had warned Daenerys of what that alliance may look like to the rest of Westeros nonetheless the Snakes were readying their forces to march under the dragon banner.

Still, there was no current Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the Reach nor a Dornish Prince to marry Queen Daenerys.  There was no Baratheon.  The current heir to Casterly Rock had murdered the Queen’s father.  The Freys were the Freys.  The Lord of the Vale was but a child who had pledged his forces, if Varys’ little birds were to be believed, to House Stark and the King in the North.  And so, in all improbability, it was the boy bastard he had met long ago who may have the most to offer his Queen.

When he wrote the summon to Snow, Tyrion had assured Dany that a while a bastard, Jon was everything a lording should be.  He also assured her that he and Lady Stark would heed their call.  And Tyrion wish this to be true but he had his doubts.  Jon and he parted ways as friends but that was before Ned Stark’s beheading and the Red Wedding.  Then there was his marriage to young Sansa Stark.  He only hoped that Sansa had told her half brother that he did his best not to cause her harm.  Still, he was a Lannister and perhaps that was too much for Jon to overcome.  _I hope you come bastard_ , he thought, _else Daenerys may find it fit to pay Winterfell an unwanted visit with her dragons_.  

 

 


	9. DAENERYS

**DAENERYS**

 

Dragonstone would not give an inch away.  Dany had hope to find traces of her family in this cold and somber castle but there was nothing.  Perhaps the usurpers had done away with everything Targaryen.  She had heard it say that Stannis Baratheon was a rigid and unforgiving man, Dragonstone was then the perfect castle for him.  _But this is the castle where I was born_ , she thought, _this was the castle that once belonged to my father and then to my brother_.  And yet, as the days went by, Dany couldn’t help but feel cheated.  She had hoped to finally feel at home but strangely enough she felt more alone than ever. Vyserys had always spoken of home, of Westeros, and she had always dreamt of finally reaching it and finding a sense of belonging but now all she felt was hesitation, she felt foreign in her birthplace.

But she had birthed three dragons and amassed a large army, all with the intent to take back her Kingdom and that was still what she was planning to do.  Perhaps Dragonstone did not feel like home because it was not.  She was the Queen, the Red Keep was her real home.

She had explained to Tyrion that she wanted to launch an assault on Kingslanding right away but both Tyrion and Varys had urged her to win others to her cause without bloodshed when possible.  Westeros had been at war for years now and Varys worried that more violence will do away with most of her would be Kingdom.  

“We have Dorne, the Reach and the Iron Islands.” she had countered.

“You have the support of the Sand Snakes of Dorne who murdered their Prince in cold blood and did away with his heir, their own blood.” Tyrion responded.  “You have the Queen of Thornes who while an asset is not a Tyrell and it is not certain that she commands the Reach or even her son’s castle for that matter.  And you have half the Greyjoys.”

“I have my own men and my children. I think I can risk this battle own my own, even without the allies I already have.”

“Eventually, you would win, your Grace,” Varys had jumped into the conversation. “But think of the destruction that will come of it? How many more people would die needlessly?”

“People will die Lord Varys, a battle will come.  Or do you expect all houses to kneel before me without fight?”

“No, of course not.  Cersei and the Lannisters will not go quietly.  Sooner or later a battle will be fought but the battle need not spread throughout the Kingdom.”

“Then let us take Kingslanding once and for all and everyone else in the kingdom will see my power, they will see my dragons in action and will think twice before opposing me.”

“I do not take you as someone who wants to rule out of fear, my Queen.” Tyrion added. 

Daenerys could not think of anything to say to that and there was a long silence before her hand spoke again in a softer tone.

“All we ask is that you let us try a few summons. If those won’t work, then at least you tried and nobody can say otherwise.”

That had been several days ago and now they waited word from those summoned.  Though from what Tyrion had told her, in truth they waited word from the North and their new King.

 


	10. THEON

**THEON**

 

They had all landed in Dragonstone, the birthplace of the Dragon Queen, to gather forces and plan multiple assaults on their enemies.  Asha had since waited patiently, or rather impatiently judging by her increasingly sour mood, for a chance to take on their uncle Euron.  She wanted nothing more than to take her beloved ax against his head, avenge her father, claim the Seastone Chair and finally lead the Iron Islands the way she always envisioned.  

Theon had once desired the same.  But that Theon was no more. And no matter how much he tried to _snap out of it_ as his sister dismissively insisted, the truth was that Reek was as much part of him now as all the other fragments left of Theon Greyjoy.  Had he been able to, he would have been happy to disappear somewhere where no one knew him, where he could forget who he had been and what he had done and what had been done to him.  But his incurable need for belonging somehow had always steer him back into the mayhem.  

He had wanted to go back to Pike and be accepted as the heir of Balon Greyjoy, he had wanted to get praise for forging an alliance between the Ironborn and the wolves.  But the price for acceptance had been set at betraying the only brother he truly knew.  He had taken Winterfell in an attempt to prove himself not only to his blood but also because a part of him always thought himself a wolf.  He had failed miserably at everything.  He lost the Ironborn, he lost Winterfell and he lost himself.  Ramsey Snow had managed to make Theon of Pike, Theon of Winterfell, disappear almost entirely.  What was left was a creature devoid of all courage and vanity, a creature that knew his place in the world.  And then the redheaded she-wolf had  appeared before his eyes and the old Theon, the best version of Theon, had stirred.

_She’s back in Winterfell now_ , Theon thought, a Winterfell under the Stark’s banner if rumors were true.  _Her bastard brother is now King_.  He wondered for an instant what the late Lady Stark would think of that.  _Nothing.  She died with Robb whom you betrayed.  Jon Snow is now King because you betrayed the Young Wolf._ Theon shook his head.  There had been no love lost between him and the Stark bastard, while Robb had accepted him as a friend, a brother even, Jon had never warmed up to him.  _He always knew what I truly was, even when I didn’t know myself._ It was this thought that had kept him from accompanying Sansa to Castle Black.  Not so much the fear of dying by Jon’s hand, which he knew was a strong probability despite Sansa’s promises.  But the fear of having to look into Jon’s eyes and account for his betrayal of their beloved brother. 

Now the Dragon Queen had summoned both Stark siblings and Theon found himself worrying about their fate.  He knew that Daenerys would demand fealty but if the North had accepted a bastard as their King, defying the Iron Throne by reclaiming their independence, they probably would not be willing to kneel before another queen, even one with dragons.   _Thorren Stark did kneel before the dragons,_ Theon thought.  But he wasn’t very sure now. Daenerys was fire, the Starks were ice and Winter had finally arrived according to the Citadel.  At night sometimes he would still hear howling, perhaps the hour of the wolf had come at winter’s heels. 

 


	11. JAMIE

**JAIME**

 

There had been no explanation from Cersei.  Their only surviving son had jumped to his death and she had said nothing.  _You caused his death_ Jaime had wanted to scream at her but he did not, he could not.   The truth was that Jamie had never been a father to any of their children.  Sure, his sister had always insisted he keep his distance to minimize suspicions but he never challenge her on it.  He had never care.  There had been no love for Joffrey but after his death, he had wanted to care for Myrcella and Tommen.  He had wanted a place in their lives.  He should have wanted more, he should have wanted to protect them.  From everyone, even from Cersei.  It was now too late.

The right thing to do, the honorable thing to do would be to put a stop to his sister’s madness but Jamie had given up honor so many years ago.  In fact, Jamie supposed that he had forsaken all pretense of honor the day the Mad King had knighted him and named him to the King’s guard.  Jamie had once looked up to Sir Arthur Dayne, to Barristan the Bold, he had wanted to follow their lead.  However, honor had not been the reason why he had joined the prestigious guard.  His lord father had taken Cersei to Kings Landing to parade her in front of Prince Rhaegar hoping for a royal match and Jamie could not bear the thought of being separated from her so he defied the mighty Tywin Lannister and allowed the Mad King to take a jab at his father by accepting the white cloak and renouncing any future titles.

And now what was left of the mighty lions?  Cersei was queen of ashes and fear, their brother, the Imp, a fugitive and a kinslayer besides.  And he?  A crippled commander in more ways than one.  The time to restore honor to the Lannisters had come and gone long ago.  It was almost like his lord father equated honor to weakness. He often bemoaned the good nature of his own father, Tytos, and vowed to never let anyone take advantage of him the way he perceived others had abused his lord father.  Tywin valued power and status, if you had enough power and money you can persuade others to think of you as honorable.  So he cared little about the moral repercussions of employing savages like the Mountain or allying himself with the Freys.  He cared little about babies being smashed against walls or planning the murder of guests at a wedding so long as those acts positioned his family in the place of highest power.  He was pragmatic, his lord father.  And, in their very own way, his children had sought to emulate him.  

While Cersei was at ease with using whatever means necessary to achieve her goals, she lacked Tywin’s cunning.  Their little brother, however, was as cunning as anyone could ever hope to be but fate had made him a dwarf assuring him a life of rejection.  _Else, he might be Lord Lannister now and rule over us all,_ reflected Jamie.  Tywin had always cast a large shadow in their family, more so after the death of his beloved wife, Joanna.  Cersei, Jamie and Tyrion had never quite being able to escape the tight clutches of their lord father, even after well into adulthood.  They feared him, hated him, loved him, respected him and sought his approval.  And this was particularly true for Jamie after his father’s death.

So what would Tywin do now?  He wouldn’t abandon Cersei, even if it was the right thing to do.  Cersei was Queen and Tywin would care little about the means she used to achieve such feat, he may deride her in private but would support her rule, or rather would support the rule of the Lions of Lannister over everyone else.  _I’ve been at crossroads many a time and I always chose her, I still do._


	12. BRAN

**BRAN**

 

Bran had seen so many things, some he wished he could forget.  Hodor.  How would he ever forget?  How would he ever forgive?  It was too painful, too maddening, too paralyzing to think about.  Meera had tried to tell him how Hodor had protected them until the end, how noble and brave his companion had been.  Bran said nothing.  His death was on him they both knew that but Meera did not know the worst of it.  She would never know how Bran had destroyed Wyllis, how in a way, he had killed a person twice.  Bran never meant to cause harm but that did not change things or absolve him of his responsibility.  Bran knew what he was now and he was afraid.  

Then there were so many visions that were confusing in nature.  Ned Stark had never father a bastard but had sacrificed his honor in order to keep a promise to his beloved sister Lyanna.  Perhaps if the Three Eyed Raven had lived he would have explained these things.  Perhaps.  Perhaps if Bran had listened to his mother and stopped climbing walls and towers, he would not have seen what he saw, he would still have the power of his legs and his father would be alive to tell Jon the truth. Perhaps.

“Jon is my cousin,” Bran had blurted out once he snapped out of the vision.

“Is that what you saw?” asked Meera. “How is that important?”

“Your lord father knows the truth.  He was there, I saw him.  He saved my father’s life.”

“He was where?”

“In Dorne, when father went to rescue my aunt Lyanna.  He stabbed Ser Arthur Dayne in the back.”

“Father told Jojen never to speak of that, he took no joy in it. Jojen had seen it in his visions.”

“Did Jojen know that Jon is the son of Lyanna Stark?

“If he did, he never told me anything.  Father never spoke of Dorne or the Rebellion. I believe it changed him or at least that is what I heard someone said once.  Father became a recluse, he never again stepped out of Greywater Watch upon his return from Dorne.”

“I need to speak with him.”

Meera smiled then but it was a smile full of sadness, full of exhaustion, full of incredulity.  Bran looked away for a moment, not wanting to see her pain, a pain he felt more responsible for as days went by.

“I will have to tell him about Jojen . . .”  She wiped away a tear.

“I am sorry my lady, I am sorry for the pain, for all the sacrifice you’ve had to endured.  I am sorry for always taking and not being able to give back.  Were it not for you and Jojen, Rickon and I would have died at Winterfell.   Father spoke often of the unquestioned loyalty of House Reed but what you and your brother did for me is—-“  Bran pauses because he can’t find the right words, there are no right words.  “I’ll never be able to repay you in kind.”

“Maybe father knew all along.  Maybe he knew that you were meant to fight against the Others.  Maybe that’s the reason he sent us to Winterfell and did not send any men with the Young Wolf.  Our role was to protect you, your role is protect all of Westeros.”

“I don’t know how. I’ve seen things that have passed and things that may come but I don’t know what it all means and how they fit together.  Why does it matter that Jon is not my brother?  How does that change anything?  Jon is Jon. A Stark. He was always so like our father.”

“But who is his real father?”

“Father found aunt Lyanna and her baby at a tower in Dorne, they were guarded by Kingsguard.”

“Prince Rhaegar then.”

“We can’t be sure. That’s why-”

“Kingsguard guard kings and royals, do they not?”

“I thought about that but even if Jon is half Targaryen, he’s still a bastard and even if he wasn’t, the Others won’t care who sits the Iron Throne.  But I was shown the truth behind his parentage and it must be important somehow.  Your father was there, if there’s anyone who knows the truth is him.”

“The Night’s Watch may help us, your brother might be willing to send some men to fetch my father or he might be able to escort us to Greywater Watch.  Will you tell your brother, will you tell Jon what you saw?”

“I know that father never told Jon anything about his birth or his mother. I know that he’s always felt different, separate from us.  But I also think he’s always felt like Ned Stark’s son.  And he is my father’s son, my brother. I won’t tell him anything that may hurt him unless it is absolutely necessary he knows.”

“But he has a right to know.”

“Jon may have rights to many things that were denied to him since birth.  It might be he was born a prince and raised as a bastard.  The moment to tell him the truth was  long ago and yet father kept quiet.  He must have had a strong reason and that is the one thing I must understand before taking action.”

“Are you ready then to head to Castle Black?”

“ I don’t think that matters much.  We are all against time.  The dead are coming soon Meera, I can feel it in my bones and ready or not, we will need to fight them.”

As he said that his thoughts returned to what he had learned about his brother Jon.  He thought about how one event, one action can alter the course of history.  Perhaps had Rhaegar never met Lyanna, the Targaryens may yet rule and he would now be the son of Brandon Stark and Catelyn Tully or perhaps he would never have come to be.  Or perhaps Rhaegar met Lyanna just so that Jon and him could come to be when they came to be.  Perhaps, like him, Jon had an inescapable destiny.  Perhaps they would learn to fly together.  Perhaps.

 


	13. JON

** JON **

He could see the legendary stronghold from a distance.  Castle walls and towers sprouting like rocks from the sea.  As the boat swayed this way and that, Jon couldn’t help but wonder if, as legend had it, actual magic had been used to build the castle.  Then, unbidden a picture of Stannis came to him.  _He would have thought me a simpleton for thinking such_ , he thought, but Jon had been around magic and the only thing he was now sure of was that he could not be sure of anything.

“Are you nervous your Grace?”  asked Davos unimpressed by a castle he knew in an out.  

_Your Grace_. Jon still cringed at the formality of it all, somehow grace was harder to get used to than Lord Commander.  _That’s because a crown doesn’t belong in your head, bastard_.  He had asked Ser Davos to avoid formalities but his trusted advisor would only heed his request when in private.  Jon knew that Davos had the right of it, him more than anyone could ill afford not to exert the image of power and control.  His crown was tenuous, even if his own lords had bent the knee out of their own choosing. He often wonder how long it will take before the lords turn against him and replace him with Sansa.  Sometimes, after very long days, he even fantasized about it.  He suspected Sansa did as well but he also understood that she and him were duty bound to their respective roles for the foreseeable future.

“Your Grace?”

“Apologies Ser Davos, I was lost in thought.”

“Are you nervous?  In a short while you’ll be meeting this Dragon Queen and maybe a dragon or two.”

“Targaryens and dragons.  I grew up thinking of them in terms of history and now it seems the wolves and dragons will circle each other again.  There’s much blood between our houses but I’m afraid that whatever misgivings I have about meeting the daughter of the man who killed my grandfather and my uncle, those need to be pushed aside. In truth, she bears no fault.”

“Not for the sins of her father, she does not.  You are wise to think this way but I do understand the misgivings of the Northern lords.  Targaryens have had a history of volatile behavior and madness. A man I knew once - a pirate- spoke of this queen of whom he heard many tales on his travels to the free cities. He spoke of her beauty but also tales of dragons burning enemies, hundreds of men being crucify in vengeance.  The tales also touched on her dead brother who died at the hands of her savage husband while she stood there and did nothing.”

“Tales also touched on her struggles to free slaves.  I know this because Sam used to read these things to Maester Aemon.  Perhaps none of these tales are true, perhaps all of them are.  We will only be able to take measure of this queen when we meet her.  But I have no illusions, Ser Davos. I expect to be asked to bend the knee.”

Davos nods, for a while they remained silent, looking up at the castle as it grows before their eyes.

“Will you?” Davos finally asks.

Jon keeps his eyes on the castle.  “I am King in the North.  It is not a title that I’m particularly attached to but it is a title that grants me the responsibility of  safeguarding the North and its people.  When I took the black I vowed to defend the realms of men which I will continue to uphold for as long as I live even if I no longer wear the Black.  When my bannermen swore me their allegiance and placed a crown on my head, I accepted the stewardship of an entire people who placed incredible faith in me.  I know what the North lost when Robb was murdered and yet despite all that they looked me in the eye and swore to follow me, a bastard.  Now, don’t misunderstand me.  I don’t believe for a second that I’ll have every northmen’s unwavering support, I am not Ned Stark.  Nonetheless, they do have mine.  I’ll fight for my people for as long as I can.  Thorren Stark did the same and there was no Harrenhal north of the Neck.  I don’t fear this queen or her dragons but I do fear what is coming from north of the wall.  If giving up my crown is what it takes to defeat the walkers and their dead, then that is just something I may have to consider if I’m to be a good King.”

“I don’t think the North could have found a better one, Jon.”

Jon turns and looks at Davos who is smiling.  He is about to reply when a loud shirk pierces the atmosphere.  By instinct all his companions duck to the boat’s floor but Jon stares mesmerized at the sky where he spots an enormous black monster. 

Drogon circles the boat and Jon feels like the beast is looking straight at him.  With another loud shriek, he’s gone and Jon realizes they have hit land.

 


	14. TYRION

**TYRION**

 

“Your Grace, they are here.  The Northerners.”  Missandei looks a bit out of breath as she informs her queen.

Daenerys turns towards Tyrion, for an instant he sees hesitation in her eyes.  This will be her first test of diplomacy in Westeros, everyone else had sought her alliance.  The North will be different.

“Have their vessels dock and feed their soldiers.  The lords and ladies shall meet with me immediately, no one armed is allowed inside the castle.”  Daenerys instructs Missandei.

“Your Grace, if I may?” interrupts Tyrion.  Dany nods.

“Let me go and greet these Lords and Ladies, get the measure of their intentions and then and only then let’s decide if we should asked them to unarmed themselves.  Else they may turn around and leave without a word.”

“If they come in peace, why would they mind-"

“The Red Wedding.  _The North Remembers_.  At least they should.”

“We are not the Freys, Lord Tyrion.”

“Exactly.”  Tyrion tells her with a kind smile, then he turns to Missandei.  “I’ll walk with you to the docks.”

“They are not at the docks, they’ve landed at the beach.”

“How many in their fleet?” Daenerys asks.

“No fleet, just two small boats.  And . . . “  Missandei hesitates “. . . no lady”

“How many men?”  Asks Tyrion.

“Six soldiers and two others.  I’ve been told one is young but wears no crown.”

“Jon Snow, then.  Let us go meet him, Missandei.”

Missandei nods and they start walking as Dany looks on.

“Tyrion-“  Dany's voice is more like a whisper “the bastard King and his companion can keep their weapons if they so desire.”

Tyrion nods and he and Missandei continue their long walk towards the beach.  The last time he felt this kind of cold was at the Wall.  He even spots a few snowflakes dancing around.  Some weeks ago, a white raven had come announcing the arrival of winter but it had been only windy then.  Now The King in the North had finally arrived bringing a taste of winter with him.  _Let him be more Jon Snow than King of Winter,_ Tyrion thought.  He had read books about the latter and knew that they were harsh and unforgiving, pure ice.  

“You know this Jon Snow, Lord Tyrion?”  Asks Missandei, Tyrion nods in response.  “Will he bend the knee, will he work with our queen?”

“The Jon I knew was a good kid, a reasonable kid, honorable. He would work with our queen if he thinks is best for the realm.”

They continue walking in silence for a while.

“Will he kneel?”  Missandei persists.

_I hope he doesn’t have to, T_ yrion thinks to himself but says nothing for a while.

“Northerners are more prickly-”

“Prickly?” Missandei asks confused.

“They are proud, they don’t take kindly to perceived offenses.  They are accustomed to their independence.  They don’t like Southerners and they don’t like to play games.”

“Is this what prickly means?”

Tyrion smiles.  “Not exactly,  What I mean to say is that they love the North and may not like the idea of being governed by a Southerner again.  They may not want to see their King kneeling before anyone.”

“He will have to.” Missandei says as a matter of fact.

Tyrion is about to respond when he spots the Northerners at a short distance and is relieved to see Jon among them.  The dancing snowflakes have now multiplied, Tyrion reaches his hand out to try to trap one.

“We’ll cross the bridge when we have to.  First let us take measure of this . . . King of Winter, shall we?”

 


	15. ARYA

** ARYA **

 

_The King in the North_.  She had heard it the first time thinking it a joke.  _The King in the North is dead_ , Arya thought, _Robb is dead._ But the rumors persisted and took flight as rumors do. People spoke of the wandering wolves who had come to reclaim what was taken from them and destroy the treacherous Boltons.  With the death of Walder Frey and some of his sons, people in the Riverlands felt free to speak their mind.  Still Arya did not know what to make of all the news.  Who were these wolves?  Bran, Rickon?  Sansa? Jon?  All of them together, except her?  Perhaps no Stark was involved, perhaps the Karstarks had taken over Winterfell claiming kinship to their distant relatives.

_Better the Karstarks than the Boltons_ , she thought but then shook her head.  _Winterfell belongs to the Starks and I am a Stark_. Still, she had a strong urge to just ignore these rumors so as to not raise any hope in her heart.  What had hope ever given her?  To this day, she could never forget the butchering at the Red Wedding, in her moment of great hope, she had witnessed the death of her mother and brother and in some sense of the North.  But curiosity - and yes hope - had won in the end.  She headed for a nearby inn where she knew she would run into transients heading north and south.  Bearer of news.  

This particular morning there was a ghost of a man who to Arya’s eyes looked closer to death than any corpse she had ever seen.  She wondered how he was able to keep on breathing.  She learned he was a Sparrow, one of the lucky few who were able to escape the clutches of the Mad Queen.  The Mad Queen, that is how people called Cersei Lannister after she killed many of her enemies by blowing up the Great Sept using wildfire.  

“The Tyrells are no more then?” asked a fat woman.

“The Church is no more, “ whispered the Sparrow,  “As for the Tyrells, I believe they all fell at once, all but the old woman.”

“I heard it said that she’s gone mad.  She’s gone seeking help from the venomous vipers in Dorne.  It looks like more war is coming,” another man chimed in.

“Where are you headed?” asked the fat woman.  “I would not stay in the Riverlands, whatever is left of the Freys, they are still under the lions,”  she added very softly.

“North,” he answered.

“Winter is here.  You might freeze to death.” The man said matter of factly. 

“Rather die by ice than fire,” countered the Sparrow.  

“I also heard the Brotherhood headed North.” The fat woman added.

Arya sat up straighter but remained quiet.

“The Brotherhood?”  asked the Sparrow.

“The Brotherhood without Banners.  One of them got a bit drunk and started going on about fighting the cold winds rising in the North.  Or some such nonsense.  Their queer Red Priest has seen a great battle at the Wall when staring at his fires.”

“I know nothing of the sort.  I’m heading to the Wall, where all crimes are forgiven. The Mad Queen won’t be able to touch me once I say my vows.”

“Bunch of criminals at the Wall nowadays I hear,” said the fat woman.

“Not all of them.”  Arya couldn’t help herself.  They all turned and took notice of her for the first time.  “Mi father once told me that lords such as the Starks also volunteer to man the wall.  The Starks are a noble family, aren’t they?”

“However many Starks there are left, none I think are at the Wall,” contributed the man. “One of them is now King,” he added.

“Heard it say, he’s no Stark at all but Lord Stark’s bastard.  A Snow,” the woman interrupted.

“Are you sure?” blurted out Arya.  She tried to reign in her emotions. “I mean, how can a baseborn be King?  Is it because none of his trueborns brothers are alive?”

“Who can understand the games that these lordings play, child,” the old man told her.  “What is true is that he and his sister raised an army of savage wildings and giants and defeated the Boltons.  The northern lords then bent their knees to the wolves again and crowned the bastard over the sister.

“The White Wolf he is called,” added the fat woman.  “He turns into one in rage, I hear.”

“He sounds fierce,” Arya said almost with a smile.  

“Makes you wonder,” said the man, “if all these Freys turning up dead are payment for the Red Wedding.  _The North Remembers_ it is said, maybe the wolves will now have their vengeance.”

“These lords will destroy  us all,” whispered the Sparrow.  “That is why I’m heading to the Wall.  The Night’s Watch takes no part.  I want no part.”

This is the last thing Arya heard.  Her head was inundated with dreams of Winterfell, dreams of having her hair mussed up by her big brother, her King.  Will Jon recognized her?  Will he want her around after learning the things she’s done?  _Only one way to find out_ , thought Arya.

 


	16. SANSA

** SANSA **

Lord Baelish was still at Winterfell.  All the other lords had departed on the same day as their King, all on separate missions but Littlefinger managed to find an excuse to linger.  Jon had requested that Lord Baelish and the Vale army accompany Lord Manderly as far as the Neck to gauge the situation south of Winterfell.  Lord Baelish had smiled his creepy smile and assured the King Vale forces would do as much but he argued that he would prefer to march as inconspicuously as possible, lest Cersei had ordered his death for his betrayal.  

“I did aid the Starks against the Queen’s wishes,” he said, “and there’s a price to pay for that.”

Neither Jon or Sansa knew if he meant he would pay the price or if he was reminding them that his help came at a price.  _Perhaps both,_ Sansa told her brother.  Regardless, at this point both knew what would be the only price that would satisfied the creep.

“I can’t leave you alone with him,” Jon told her, “if I must delay this trip I will.”

“That would not accomplish anything, Jon,” Sansa said impassive.  “He will wait you out, else he would pretend to leave and knock at the gates the minute he thought you out of sight.”

In the end, Jon had reluctantly agreed to let Sansa deal with the situation.

“We don’t trust Littlefinger.  We don’t trust this Dragon Queen,” Sansa had told his brother, “so we must trust in each other. Arya and Bran are still out there and we need to protect what remains of our family, our home, for them.”

Sansa knew Jon understood.  In fact she knew he understood better than she did.  She had little doubt that Jon would sacrifice his life for his siblings.  He had done it with Rickon, despite her warning.  Some times she wonder if Kingslanding had damaged her beyond repair, if indeed that nest of vipers had poisoned her soul irreversibly.  Arya had often accused her of selfishness, she hadn’t been wrong but now she wondered if she had also lost a sense of empathy towards others.  

Often times, Jon’s presence just exacerbated her self doubts and she resented him for it.  Thus despite her reservations about Jon meeting the Dragon Queen, Sansa had actually looked forward to her time as acting ruler of the North. Littlefinger, however, turned out to be a bigger annoyance than she had anticipated.  She was not fearful of what he may attempt to do to her, her lady Knight guarded her every step and all three knew that Brienne could end Baelish with a single swing of her sword.

What she dreaded about Littlefinger was the threads of manipulation that Brienne’s sword could not stop.  He was there every day whispering in her ear about turning the tables on Jon and taking the North in his absence.

“My lady, I doubt you’ll find a more appropriate time to regain your birthright.  Your bastard brother, from what I witnessed, is not ambitious enough to retaliate and take arms against you.  The transition would be peaceful, you would lose little if anything at all.”  

_I would lose Jon_ , Sansa thought while impassively looking at this snake of a man. 

“The Starks are not like the Lannisters or the Targaryens for that matter, my lord.  Stark against Stark? The last I heard about a Stark taking arms against close kin was The King of Winter defeating the Night’s King, and that was only an old wives’ tale.”  _The lone wolf dies but the pack survives_ , Sansa thought but kept that last part to herself.  There was no danger in playing Littlefinger’s game for a while, no need to rebuff him completely, no need to turn him completely against when he could still be useful if things were to change between her and Jon.

“He’s a Snow, not a Stark. Baseborn. Regardless, like I said there would be no need to shed blood.  The bastard is honorable, I’ll give him that.”

“You may think me still naive, Lord Baelish. But I don’t do the things I do out of the goodness of my heart.  Jon Snow is my half brother but I’ve never been close to him.  He is father’s son and a good man.  He’s also someone who will always put his siblings first, what kind of fool would get rid of so amenable player so early in the game?”

She smiled internally at Petyr’s raised eyebrow.  _Keep him guessing._

“The North is not yet consolidated.  There’s true fear of what is to come from North of the Wall.  A hero is needed and I can’t play that role but my baseborn half brother can.  Let him play at savior, saviors don’t live long.  Winterfell will be mine in the end and no one will be able to sing a song of the treacherous sister betraying the young and brave White Wolf.”

“My lady is playing the long game, I see.  But what happens if this Dragon Queen he is heading to see decides to play with him too?  How are you to compete with her when you cannot lay your beauty at his feet?”

_He does not really know Jon_ , Sansa thinks.

“If the bastard joins House Stark and the North to the Targaryen queen and her dragons, none will be able to stop them.  They will rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

“And I will rule the North,” Sansa interrupts, “with the Seven Kingdoms in hand, Jon would give me the North.  I don’t doubt that for a second.”

“A win in every scenario, I see,”  Petyr mumbles without looking at her, “but only for someone who dreams small.  I offer you the Seven Kingdoms and your only answer is to point to a frozen region populated with brutes who believe in munchkins  and ice demons.”

“You confuse me at times, my lord,” Sansa responds coyly “what is your greatest desire?  Is it the Iron Throne or is it me? If it is me, you may want to start warming up to the cold and my bannermen.  Sooner or later I will rule the North.  If it is the Iron Throne then I recommend you start figuring out how to do away with three dragons and a Targaryen princess who may want to claim that awful chair.  As it is your wasting your time and mine.”

 


	17. TYRION/JON

**TYRION**

“Hello bastard,” Tyrion walks towards Jon.  Suddenly he notices his companion moving forward as if to shield his King.  Jon Snow gently holds him back.

“Hello, Imp,” he answers “I see your letter told truth, you remain a dwarf.”

Tyrion smiles, “I spot no crown in your head, tell truth, are you indeed a King now?  Wait, do not answer that, I’m delighted to see you out of your black prison.  The place didn’t suit you.”

Tyrion offers his hand and Jon smiles briefly and shakes it.

“And I guess I’m glad your head remains in its place.  I heard your sister offered a kind reward for it.”

“Sweet Cersei probably has a collection of dwarves’ heads she never paid for.”

Both Jon and Davos keep quiet at this.  Missandei who has remained at a distance comes closer.

“But enough of Lannister drama,” continues a bemused Tyrion.  “I’m glad you heeded my queen’s call.  Though we did expect more of the North to accompany you, especially your lady sister.”

“As it were, I had planned a visit to Dragonstone before your letter arrived.  It coincided nicely with my plans.  As for my sister, she is the Stark in Winterfell.  She rules and has the support of my bannermen in my stead. She does however send her regrets.”

“I am sure she does.  But I am curious, why would the King in the North plan a visit to Dragonstone? Surely, the North has no ambitions south of the Neck or have things changed?”

“None for the castle or the territory.  As you know the North defends its independence and we care little about forcing others to join us against their will. As for my planned visit, King Stannis had spoken numerous times about the abundant obsidian in the castle and I wanted to confirm its existence.”

“Obsidian?” Missandei speaks then, “Why would a King care for a piece of rock?”

Jon looks at her for the very first time, taken back for a minute by her beauty.

“My lady,” he begins.

“Where are my manners?  Jon Snow this lovely lady is Missandei, one of Daenerys Targaryen’s most trusted advisors.  Missandei, this is Jon Snow.”

“The King in the North,” Davos adds with conviction.

“The King in the North,” Tyrion bows his head to Davos. “And you ser, are?”

“Davos Seaworth,” responds the Onion Knight.

 

**JON**

 “My hand.”  Jon adds quickly, immediately thinking how Sansa may hate the idea.  But if Jon  has a trusted advisor, then that person is the Onion Knight.  He appreciates the advice of every one of his bannermen but he knows he can count with Davos’ loyalty and honesty.  Davos, Tormund, Ed and Sam.  Those four he can count on but aside from Sam who he may never see again, Davos is the only he could named a hand.  He looks at Davos for a second and sees that he caught him by surprise, something he’s sure Tyrion has noticed as well. 

“The famous Onion Knight.  Honor to meet you ser, I, like you, have served two different monarchs as hand.  My current one is an enormous upgrade to the last one.  I am sure you feel the same about your current King.”

Jon studies Davos and he knows Davos is swallowing a retort.  _Good_ , Jon thinks.  _No need to start measuring me up against this Dragon Queen.  We have not come all this way to play games._   

“As I was saying, lady Missandei, obsidian or dragon glass is an invaluable asset for facing the threat coming from North of the wall.  I was hoping to be able to take some of the material back to the North to harness weapons for the Night’s Watch.”

“But we heard you let the wild people through the wall.  Why do you need obsidian to fight them if they are now part of your army?”  asks Missandei.  

“More than grumkins and snarks, I assume?” interrupts Tyrion looking at Jon with some concern.

“Wights and those who control them.  And every time they kill, that corpse rises to become part of them.  They came with Winter and will bring forth the Long Night if we let them, Lord Tyrion,” answers Jon gravely. 

“Old Mormont mentioned the tales of wildlings fleeing something sinister . . . have you seen these wights with your own eyes, Snow?”

“Aye, I fought them. Fought an Other as well.  The Watch alone does not stand a chance.  I intend for the North to fight along the Watch when the time comes but I fear it will still not be enough.  I came for the obsidian, aye, but I also came to talk to your queen about joining the true war.”

Tyrion stares a long while at Jon without saying a thing.  Jon knows the little man is churning a million thoughts in his head.  For all his quick wit, he always found the Imp to be a thoughtful man when necessary.  

“I’m sure you and your men have had a long journey.  Let us be be good hosts and offer you a few comforts before conversations go further-”

“Our queen-”  Missandei interrupts.

“Daenerys knows about long journeys and needing time to rest.  I’ll meet with our queen while our friends from the North take a minute to collect their thoughts and feed their bellies.”

_She looks apprehensive,_ Jon thinks but he doesn’t blame her.  Either way she does not argue back.

“Jon, your men will be accommodated as comfortably as we can afford at the moment.  However we must take their weapons away-“

“You are dealing with a King, surely-” Davos interjects before Jon intercedes again.

“The Lord Tyrion helped me once Ser Davos and he never showed himself as anything other than what he is.  No false courtesies.  I trust that same man is standing before me, is he not, Imp?

“No harm will come to your King or any of his men, Ser Davos.  I would swear it on my honor as a Lannister but alas those days are gone.  Your King once called me a friend, I consider him one still.  You and his Grace will remain armed if you so wished.”

Davos looks towards Jon who nods.

“Very well.  Missandei could you please have one of the Unsullied show the Northern soldiers to shelter?  His Grace and Ser Davos will come with me.”

 

 


	18. DAENERYS

** DAENERYS **

****

“Dragonglass?”  asks Daenerys.

“Yes. To fight something north of the Wall, he said. I didn’t understand very well but Lord Tyrion did. He said he would come to meet you after leading the guests to their rooms.”

“I see," Daenerys says impatiently, "Tell me Missandei, how is this King in the North? This Jon Snow? Will I like him?”

“I’m not sure, your Grace.  He is different than all the lords I met. He is young and . . .”

Missandei pauses, searching for what to say next while Daenerys stares at her expectantly.

"Old," she finally says.

“Young and old?”

“He is of age with you I believe but he is solemn.  His eyes are weary, like he has seen too much.  But maybe that is what Kings are supposed to look like.”

“Does he look like my equal?” 

But before Missandei can reply, Tyrion enters the room.

“I’m not sure his Grace can survive fire and ride dragons, I’m afraid you’ll never find anyone who will be your equal, your Grace.” Tyrion says with a smile.

Daenerys returns his smile. “But I can’t turn into a wolf and come back from the death, my lord.  Nor will anyone ever called me a great swordsman.”

“Jon looked very alive and human to me.  But regardless of the lack of truth in these rumors, his title along makes him important, bastard or not.  Besides I have a feeling that you won’t find the idea of him all that repulsive.”

Daenerys does her best not to react to the last part. “Missandei mentioned his need for obsidian, what is all that about?”

“Snow comes with tales of a great threat coming from the Lands of Always Winter.  His focus is, he says, solely on preparing for the real war and he may ask that you join him.”

“So he’s already making demands?” questions Dany. 

“I don’t take Snow as the demanding type.  Rather he may ask or try for a compromise.”

“Did you speak of a possible formal alliance between us?”

“No.  I didn't touch on the subject.  I wanted to get a read of him, see if he was still the same Jon I met so long ago.”

“And?” Daenerys asks.

“Hard to tell. I’d forgotten his solemn countenance. He won’t give much away.  One thing is for certain though . . . the boy is gone.”


	19. CERSEI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's visit Cersei, shall we?

** CERSEI **

Cersei had taken to dining alone most days.  She barely ate anyway, she found food an inconvenience much like sleep.  Both practices only brought her memories, perhaps not always of “happier” times but times in which she was still surrounded by family.  She was the lone lioness nowadays, the one to carry on the Lannister name.  On occasion she remembered that Jamie was still around but much like food and sleep, she prefer to do without him if at all possible.  Her first impulse upon seeing him for the first time since Tommen’s death was to force him away.  She could see it in his eyes, the accusation, the disapproval.  _You killed Tommen_ his eyes screamed even if she knew his lips would never uttered those words.

But she had not killed Tommen.  Her young precious boy was always meant to die.  Like Joffrey and like sweet Myrcella.  Hadn’t she been told that by Maggie the Frog?  Her mistake was in not listening.  Had she listened, perhaps she could have done away with her golden children at the womb as she had done with Robert’s spawn. It would have been a kindness.

There were moments of weakness when she thought that if she had listened to Ned Stark’s warning, and left Kings Landing with her children, they would all be alive today.  And perhaps she and Jamie could finally be together as they were always meant to be.  Cersei was rarely weak though.  No. She was now more lucid than ever.  She now understood that the only thing left to her was what she always wanted, the chance to prove herself as the true heir of the great Lions of Lannister.  For years she had wanted Tywin to see her value, to see past his golden, warrior son and see that Cersei was just as capable to honor the legacy he had worked so hard to build.  Now, she wondered if Tywin had been weaker than all of them, weaker even than her freakish imp of a brother.  _Done in by his own son_ , she caught herself thinking at times.  Her lord father thought himself so cunning and intimidating that he failed to see how dangerous Tyrion had become.  Not her though. She had always known the monster that lay within.  _The valonqar_. 

The thought of the valonqar is what kept her from dismissing her twin altogether.  Maggie the Frog had not been wrong about her golden children, why should she doubt now that her life would end at Tyrion’s hands?  Especially if the rumors were true, especially if he now colluded with the daughter of the Mad King.  Truth is that the thought of it brought a smile to her face.  She had always loathed her youngest brother but there was no denying his perseverance.  He, in his own very way, was a true Lannister, in a way that Jamie had proven not to be.  It was comical really, realizing this now, when nothing could ever fix them.  _What a team we could have been_ , she thought.  Her vision and beauty, Jamie’s warrior skills and Tyrion’s cunning mind.  No one should have been able to touch them.

Perhaps it was true that Tyrion had nothing to do with Joffrey’s death.  Maybe it had been Littlefinger and Sansa all along.  Maybe not. It didn’t matter. Tyrion had killed their lord father and the three of them could never be a family again.  Cersei did know however that Tyrion hated her and that he would not hesitate a moment to end her life.  Didn’t he had warned her?  _Your joy will turn to ashes_ , he had told her.  Ashes.  Much of Kinslanding was still a pile of ashes of her own making, if Tyrion had turned to fire to seek his revenge, she was willing to show them all that she could return as much fire as they were willing to send her way.  She may not have dragons but she was a true Lion.  Her father had brought down the entire North with a letter or two.  And her?  The Tyrells were no more.  She now sat the Iron Throne with the Queen's Guard, Gold Cloaks and the Lannister forces at her behest.   And as the last line of defense stood her golden twin brother whom she knew would never truly abandon her.  She had loved her children and then Jamie.  Jamie had never loved their children, he had only loved her.

 


	20. DAENERYS

**DAENERYS**

“They are on their way, your Grace.”  Missandei stood near the door; she had found her Queen lost in thought.

“Lord Tyrion-”

“With them,” Missandei finished.

Then Dany heard Tyrion’s voice, he seemed to be reminiscing of moments shared with his companions but outside of the sound their boots made as they met the hard stone, one could have assumed Tyrion walked alone. For some reason, she had wanted to hear Jon Snow’s voice before seeing him.  Perhaps expectations had being building up in her head since talk of an impending marital alliance were discussed, with Snow as the central candidate.  It was truly a silly state to be in, so anxious for a resolution and for some inexplicable reason so terrified of the very moment.  And now as the steps were fast approaching, she turned towards the window once more to delay their first meeting even if for a few seconds.  

“Your Grace,” Tyrion’s voice boomed in the cavernous solar.  “May I introduce you to an old friend of mine, Jon Snow . . .King in the North.”

“The White Wolf,” added Dany more as an affirmation than a question though the tone may have tilted that way at the end.  She had still to turn around, waiting.  But the northerner had said nothing at that so the time had come to meet this silent wolf who might just become her King Consort. She turned.

There he was, with none of Daario’s swagger or Drago’s physical fierceness yet the familiarity of his presence was threatening to overtake her.  She forced herself to lock eyes with him briefly and his gaze was intense but devoid of any admiration, contempt, desire, fear or awe.  

“Your Grace,” The King in the North bowed his head briefly.  So did his companion.

“Jon Snow, standing  before you is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name.  Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains.”

Dany cringed internally as Tyrion read her titles to an impassive Jon whose face was impossible to read.  _Kings of Winter._   Tyrion had mentioned briefly the history of the North and their old Kings.  The more she stared at Jon, she wondered if he was made of ice.

There was an awkward silence that followed the reading of her titles.  Her Hand seemed to be waiting for either of them to speak.   Daenerys gave in once more.

“So you are the son of the u—”  She felt Tyrion’s eyes burned her, she corrected course, “famous Lord Eddard Stark.  One of the men responsible for the destruction of the Targaryen rule and my subsequent exile.”  She said it without venom, at least she thought she did, but she needed to say it.  Hadn’t she dreamt of confronting all of those who had done her family wrong?  Destiny had taken Ned Stark before she could spit truths in his face or worse but his blood stood before her and she couldn’t help herself.

He looked at her like a man adept at dealing with nuisances.  It caused her even more disquietude 

“Your Grace, truth be told, I have not planned a long visit. If we start debating the spilled blood between our houses and who has suffered more loss, we may never get to the purpose of this meeting.”  Even his voice was without emotion.

Daenerys smirked.  “And pray, what is the purpose of this meeting . . . your _Grace_?”

“I know not your intentions. I received a note from your Hand whom I know to be a reasonable man. He spoke of peace and dialogue.  I gather you want to request the North’s alliance to retake the Iron Throne?”

Dany said nothing at that, Jon continued.

“The North has no Southern ambition, not one of my bannermen would stand between you and the Iron Throne.  We do not intend to be an obstacle and we hope that you have indeed come in peace.”

“Will you bend the knee, then?  Will you turn over your armies to me to help me defeat the usurper Cersei Lannister?”

Tyrion watched the back and forth, swallowing hard.  One look at him and Daenerys knew things were not going as he had hoped.  She knew she was not helping but she couldn’t take back her words now.  Besides that had been the entire point of the summon, hadn’t it?  She had summoned this bastard King to demand he bend the knee . . . and perhaps offer her hand in return.

 


	21. JON

** JON **

The issue had come up faster than he had anticipated, at least there had not been any  marriage talk to dressed the demand as a pact of some sort and for that he was grateful. The Dragon Queen was as impatient as she was beautiful.

“The North was an independent kingdom for thousands of years before Aegon the Conqueror came to our shores.  It is the wish of my people that we honor our independence and though we are not averse to having a mutually beneficial alliance with whoever governs from the Iron Throne, we no longer recognize the mandate of the Red Keep.  As such I cannot at the moment bend the knee and give you a territory that does not belong to me alone.”

“I see. Can I ask you a question, your Grace?” Dany asks moving her gaze from Tyrion to him.  Jon nods, noticing meanwhile the fire that was rising in the queen’s eyes.

“What power do you have then if you are not willing to speak to your people’s best interest? If you are not willing to lead them? Guide them?”

“I was not born a prince your Grace, less so a King.  I did not conquer the North and proclaim myself a King.  I did not ask for the title, my bannermen bent their knees of their own accord and decided that I was to lead them.  They have placed their faith in me and I do not intend to betray that trust.  I understand who you are and I understand your quest but you cannot presume to know my people and their needs unless of course you are insinuating that there will be negative consequences for not pledging our lands and power to you?”

“No need to jump to such conclusions, Jon,” Tyrion interrupts. “You are a man who has seen battle and worse, you cannot tell me that you would rather war with the South than reach a peaceful resolution?  Especially now when it seems the North will need the support of others to survive winter.”

“If the North succumbs to winter, Lord Tyrion, everything below the Neck will eventually follow.  The enemy beyond the Wall is not coming for the North alone.  These absurd wars for the Iron Throne will be for naught—”

“It seems this meeting is for naught,” Dany cuts him off.  

“Your Grace, if I may?”  Davos looks at Jon, he nods.

“As my King explained, the North has no ambition south of the Neck.  While Southern lords raised up their banners to dispute the Iron Throne, the North rallied to rescue their Lord Paramount from the clutches of the Lannisters. When that failed, the North sought justice and independence with no ambition to take the throne.  Never has a Stark proclaimed himself King of the Seven Kingdoms.  The North is an isolated place with no particular resources to entice the rest of Westeros.  It is a region scarcely populated but those who are brave enough to suffer summer snows have always relied on the Starks for protection and leadership. It was them that decided to crown the young Robb Stark when their warden was murdered, it was them that lay their swords at his feet and died along with him at the Twins. It was the same people who, despite the losses and the trauma suffered, saw in Jon Snow the renewal of hope.  The same hope that many in Westeros will probably see with your arrival.  _Breaker of chains_ they call you, a champion for those most in need.  Many see King Jon the same way.  You may have more in common with him than you can imagine. You championed the freedom of those in bondage, will you not champion the freedom of the North? Do they not deserved the right to choose who they want to be led by?  This need not be contentious, this ought to be an alliance between two just rulers who want the best outcome for Westeros and its people.”

“An alliance,” Tyrion jumps in “Thank you, Ser Davos, that is why we sought this meeting. Westeros can’t hardly continue down the road of destruction.  My family has already done incredible damage, war has gone on for years without end in sight, all because Cersei does not want to relinquish power.”

“You served as hand to Joffrey Baratheon, my lord,” Jon says icily to Tyrion.  Perhaps he should not have said anything, he suspects Tyrion was never directly involved in any of the tragedies that had befallen the Starks, still it somehow gulled him to have any Lannister tried to wash their hands from the events that culminated in the deaths and disappearances of the people he loved most in the world. 

Tyrion smiles nervously and Jon can’t help but notice the Targaryen Queen’s eyes have stayed focused on him. Tyrion takes a sip of wine.

“I am not denying that I took part in the game, I don’t deny that I supported my family even while I was fully aware of the lies and crimes perpetrated.  I can assure you, I took no part in the fate that befell your father, your brother and lady Catelyn.  Though of course I knew who was to blame. I am culpable of not betraying my family, that I will fully admit. Do I feel shame looking at you, did I feel shame before the Lady Sansa after learning of the Red Wedding?  I do and I did.  But the past cannot be undone, all I can offer are sincere regrets and my hand in friendship if you’ll take it as you once did before.”

“The past cannot be undone,” Daenerys Stormborn speaks again, “but the consequences of said past still lingered to this day, do they not?  My brother Rhaegar, fell in love with your Lord Father’s sister which culminated in many deaths and the near extinction of my House. Eighteen  years later, we stand before each other, neither willing to bend the knee to the other.”

“I am asking no such thing,” replies Jon.  Daenerys ignores him and continues.

“ _Breaker of chains_ , you are correct Ser,” she turns her eyes to Ser Davos, “that is a name used for me in the free cities.  But like I told Lord Tyrion once, I intend to break more than just chains.  I intend to break the entire system that has kept Westeros spinning in pointless circles of power that only bring destruction to those who are powerless.  From all I heard, I do not doubt your King is a man of honor but men of honor bring destruction all the same, do they not?”

“I am afraid,” Davos tells her, “that all men are flawed and capable of violence and death when the time comes but I have seen too much of men and their flaws not to notice when someone is just and honorable and good, yes good.” Davos looks at Jon and continues, “Jon Snow is a good, brave man and the North, no, the whole of Westeros needs him if we are to survive what comes North of the Wall.”

“What comes North of the Wall?” Dany asks almost in mocking.

Jon seizes the opportunity.  “The White Walkers, their wights and their King.  That is what is North of Wall, a storm of destruction that aims to do away with all of us.  That is my true concern, that is what keeps me up at night, what occupies most of my thoughts.  Not a throne in Kings Landing, a place I have never seen in person nor do I care to. Take your throne if you must your Grace, take back your father’s crown, the North will not stand in your way.  Or if you really care for this land, take your army and your dragons and join the North against the real enemy.”

“Even if I believed in your tales of monsters Jon Snow, tell me, why would I aid a people who are not willing to aid me?

“You have not asked for aid, your Grace,” Jon reminds her, “you have demanded the North do away with their independence.  Your numbers are probably such that you could move against the Lannisters and their allies without a single addition from the North and win decisively.  You have dragons.  The North has just pledged that we will not stand against you, not now and not in the foreseeable future as long as a Stark rules the North.  I have not come to oppose you, I came here to warn you-”

“Warn me?” The queen cuts him off agitated. Jon keeps calm.

“Warn you, yes.  Warn you and warn the rest of Westeros of what is moving against us all.  Right before receiving word from Lord Tyrion, my people and I had decided that our duty was to warn everyone who would listen that a great battle approaches, that all should heed warning and prepare themselves.  My visit south had already been decided upon before Tyrion’s letter ever came.  Though I will admit that learning of your arrival gave me hope.”

Jon notices that the queen’s stare has softened somewhat, an involuntary reaction which she tries to correct immediately.  He sees the young girl that she is then, placed in a position where weakness can only be displayed at great risk.  He also sees the loneliness of her position, and it suffocates him a bit.  Perhaps in some ways she is his reflection, despite all that divides them.


	22. DAENERYS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Life got on the way but let's go back to Jon and Daenerys' first meeting.

**DAENERYS**

Snow keeps his eyes steady on her, they are not threatening but something more dangerous, _inquisitive_.  There was a moment there when he had caught her off guard. _Hope_ , he had said, her arrival gave him hope.  That one moment had made her light and he had seen it, she knew he had and his eyes had bored into her even more intensely though what went on in his mind she could not guess.  But she was certain that now he knew she was not as fierce as she pretended.  She had to look away, she directed her gaze to Tyrion. Snow continued making his case.

“I do not presume to know how many men are at your command but however many, they will be more useful fighting at the Wall than fighting a Lannister queen whose grasp on power is tenuous at best.  I do not doubt you can take the throne from the Lannisters, many will die on both sides and even on sides that want no part of any of it. Then after, when you are finally able to climb the steps to your family’s legacy you may find that the Kingdom you want to change for the better no longer exists.  That every man who died in battle moves again and moves against the living.”

“Where is proof of these monsters, Jon Snow?”  she asks, “Why is it that no one else in Westeros has seen them?”  She turns to Davos, “have you Ser Davos?”

“I did not accompany the Night’s Watch north of the Wall, your Grace.  I have not seen these monsters but I believe the accounts of every man, woman and child who were able to survive encounters with these dead things.  And even if one would have difficulty believing their words, I could never deny the fear I saw in their eyes.”

“So it is just his word, then,” she says looking towards Jon but avoiding his eyes.  She does however catch the bastard king stretching his gloved hand, almost involuntarily.  She wonders what does it take to break his inscrutable expression.

“There are brothers of the Night’s Watch—”

“Your brothers,” she interrupts Jon, “or do they stop being your brothers once the oath is broken. I am curious Jon Snow, do your brothers consider you a traitor for abandoning them?”

It is then that he truly bores his eyes into her and she fights the instinct to step back.  She is taken aback by the darkness that has now inundated his gaze, he has not moved an inch, not made any moves towards her but she feels unprotected, never mind the other people who are in the room with them.  The silence is unbearable, for just an instant she regrets saying what she did.  _What is said is said_ , she thinks, _I must move forward_.  She moves to speak again when a loud shriek pierces the atmosphere, and soon sounds of commotion are heard outside the room.  _Drogon_ , she can feel her impatient child flying above them.  He’s close, perhaps too close for comfort for the people surrounding the castle. She glances at Missandei who nods and starts to head out.  She notices Snow has moved his hand over the pommel of the sword hanging from his hip and Ser Davos has assumed a shielding position over his King.

The tension is incredibly thick.  The northerners do not know what is going on, a part of Dany enjoys watching the uncertainty in Snow’s eyes.  There’s no fear in him but for the first time she feels she has the upper hand.  Maybe he had not understood she was not someone to be dismissed. _Drogon will change his mind_ , she thinks.  

Then her eyes fall on Tyrion who is looking at her expectantly.  Somehow she knows that her Hand will continue to be disappointed by her behavior tonight.  He is sipping from his wine cup more often than not, never a good sign.  

Missandei turn towards the door just as Grey Worm is entering the room, they bump into each other. Dany smiles at the sight of him, her loyal commander had been gone for several days trying to secure the nearby castles.  Most people in the Stormlands had by now caught glimpses of her children - and her rather large and peculiar army- and had lay low.  Neither laying their swords down at her feet or heeding word of the Lannister Queen who had yet to acknowledge Daenerys’ presence in Westeros but who nevertheless had raised the award for anyone brave enough to attempt to procure Tyrion’s head.  

Dany can’t help but notice how Grey Worm’s eyes twinkle at the sight of her advisor as if her mere presence was enough to make him forget himself.  Soon enough though he is looking around and is surprised to see the unknown faces.

“Your Grace,” he bows hesitating “Drogon is . . . agitated.  My men tell me he has being circling the castle at a distance but is now getting closer. The Dothraki are all taking shelter.”

“Rhaegal and Viserion?”

“Hunting. Drogon is alone.”  Greyworm’s eyes then fall to Snow’s sword hand. “Perhaps he senses you in danger.”

_Perhaps that is true_ , reflects Daenerys but she says nothing.

“No danger, Greyworm. No need to worry, we are among friends,” says Tyrion.  

Greyworm nods at Tyrion but then turns his eyes towards Daenerys for confirmation.

“Your Grace?”

“All is fine my friend.  Perhaps my child only wishes to meet this King in the North, take the measure of him.” Her lips smile as she turns towards Jon who has now relaxed his position. “Would you like meet one of my children, Jon Snow?


	23. JON

**JON**

Her lips smile but her eyes do not.  Jon knows that now will come the show of power.  She will give him a glimpse of the leverage she holds over them all.  She wants him to bend the knee, to give her the North but she doesn’t really need him.  At least she thinks she doesn’t really need him, she could take all which he holds dear by force if she wanted to.  Her Hand probably feels differently given his repeated attempts at smoothing things over.  But Jon can see that this Queen does as she pleases.  _Perhaps_ , he thinks, _I could learn that from her_.  

He realizes he’s remained quiet far longer than he should have.  She will mistake it for fear no doubt but for an unexplained reason he has none.

“Who wouldn’t your Grace,” he finally says, “I did catch a glimpse of one of them upon my arrival, it took me back to the tales Old Nan used to tell us children about the mighty dragons that once ruled Old Valyria and conquered Westeros.  History is coming back.”

“Not quite.  History is set in dried ink, in old books, distorted by maesters, no doubt.  But dead and harmless for the most part.  My children are alive. They may well be history at some point but today they are an extension of me.”

Another loud shriek, this one even closer.  Jon looks over at Ser Davos and he sees the apprehension in his eyes. He can’t blame him.  Perhaps if he had seen a walker, he would be less alarmed.

“Come, Jon Snow. A word of warning though, Drogon can be temperamental, he listens to no one but me and even I have been subjected to his stubbornness.”

With that the Dragon Queen steps out into a balcony.  Jon Snow moves after her, he looks back at Ser Davos to reassure him with a nod and then his eyes land on Lord Tyrion who raises his wine glass in a silent toast.  Missandei and the Guard stand right at the entrance to the balcony, they let him through.

Daenerys is standing close to ledge, looking up.  Jon stays back for a moment but his eyes follow her gaze and spot the black dragon flying in circles.  The Queen has her hand extended as if calling him to her but he remains way beyond reach.  Jon slowly approaches the ledge, never taking his gaze off the dragon above.  It is then than the beast turns his full attention to the balcony and flies down in one swoop, creating such gust that both Daenerys and Jon duck instinctively.  When Jon straightens and lifts up his gaze, he sees the dragon hovering right in front of them, as if considering whether to land on the ledge or not.  Jon thinks him so large that he fears the balcony will crumble below his weight. _Don’t do it,_ he thinks. The dragon, he notices, is looking straight at him as if it were able to read his mind.

“What are you doing?” He hears her voice.  Jon had almost forgotten there was another dragon with them in the balcony.  

“Do you have a death wish?”

“I am not sure I know what you mean, your Grace,” says Jon without looking at her, his eyes still on the dragon who has a curious look about him.

“Dragons are not wolves, Jon Snow. Lower your hand, else Drogon may very well leave the North without a King.”

He realizes only then that his hand is extended. Had he been waiting for the dragon to sniff at it, the way Ghost did from time to time when he was feeling apprehensive?

“Right,” he says feeling somewhat dumb and lowers his hand.  The dragon shrieks again and slowly descends towards the ledge.  Daenerys shortens the distance and reaches her hand towards the black creature who for once takes his eyes off Jon and stares at the Queen, hesitant.  Jon notices a queer look in the Queen’s eyes, it seems to him her child is not cooperating with the show she means to put on.  The dragon’s eyes shift from the Queen, back to Jon, back to the Queen, back to Jon.  Finally the creature relents and heeds her call.  He lowers his snout towards her hand and she pets him.  Both keep their eyes on Jon.  The King in the North wonders for a moment if the creature has pegged him as an enemy and he is simply waiting for the right moment to attack.  Perhaps it is only Daenerys’ presence that has kept him from bathing him in fire and swallowing him whole.

And yet, there’s no fear in him, no dread.  Inexplicably he feels a magnetic pull towards the beast that he can’t understand.  _Warg_ , he thinks and then chastises himself for even given it a thought.  Hadn’t he dreamt himself Daeron the Young Dragon when he was child?  He had been fascinated by the Targaryen lore, like most children in Westeros who grew up listening to the stories of the conquering warriors.  Even his little sister Arya had been smitten by the dragons and Arya was not the smitten kind.  _And here you are King in the North, a real dragon hovers above you and somehow you dare to think there could be a bond between the dreaded creature and you. You know nothing, Jon Snow_.

“What do you think of him, Jon?” Tyrion’s voice comes from behind. Jon does not turn his back on the dragon.

“Is it a him?”

“Impossible to tell, to be honest, and Drogon has never said either way.”  

Jon smiles despite himself. “Drogon is impressive,” he admits.

“All my children are.  I pity anyone who decides to go against them,” Daenerys adds nonchalantly.  

To this Jon says nothing, he understands the threat.  Both the threat being thrown at him by the Dragon Queen and the real one.  One look at Drogon and he understands that he and the others would be an invaluable tool in the war to come.  One look at Drogon and he has hope for the realms of men.  He moves his eyes from one dragon to another.

“Can I touch him, your Grace?”  He has taken the Queen by surprise.

“Your Grace, that may not be a great idea.”  Jon hears Davos’ worried voice, he had not noticed his adviser had come out to join them.

“I would listen to Ser Davos,” Daenerys answers.  “Dragons rarely like anyone who is not a dragon and they have been known to eat other dragons as well.”

“Drogon,” Jon says quietly and the creature trains his eyes on him.  “May, I?” He approaches slowly, Daenerys remains rooted next to the dragon.  The dragon remains still, his breathing however is a bit agitated.  The Queen keeps petting him, her eyes shift from Jon to her child. It seems to Jon that there’s fear in her eyes.  He doesn’t know however if she fears harm done unto him or unto her child.  

Jon now faces the dragon who has again locked eyes with him, Jon swears he can hear the beast’s heart.  It has blended with his own heart beats. He feels an overwhelming sense of excitement. Overwhelming, almost as if he could also sense the dragon’s own excitement.  And dread.  Now he feels dread.  There is no fear of dying or being physically harmed by the dragon or even by the Dragon Queen.  The dread is something else, something obscure he can’t quite understand but there is something inside of him that has been woken by the sight and the closeness of the magnificent beast.  Something that terrifies him, like his nightmares of the Winterfell crypts.  Nonetheless he raises his hand.

He looks at Drogon, waiting for an invitation but the dragon is not so patient.  The creature moves his massive snout towards the raised hand and allows Jon to caress him.  

“Thank you,” Jon whispers and then it is done.  The dragon steps off and flies aways, leaving a gust of wind behind and another sky piercing shriek.  Jon watches him go, still mesmerized by the experience.  Once Drogon is out of sight, Jon turns to notice all eyes on him.


	24. ARYA

** ARYA **

****

News of the arrival of the Dragon Queen to Westeros had been fortuitous to Arya’s plans.  No one but the Stormlanders had yet to set eyes on the Targaryen and her large savage army but the mere knowledge of their existence was enough distraction for the Red Keep and those who currently grasped tenuous control over the Iron Throne.  The Lions were rather preoccupied with an anticipated attack to even pretend to care for the well-being of their disdained allies.  A couple of dead Freys were no cause of concern to them when the old man Frey had propagated his seed so broadly. 

Arya had killed a handful of Freys but it had been their unbridled greed that had unraveled the near extinction of the male bloodline of the cursed family.  In the end, it had been easy to free Edmure Tully, it had indeed being merciful to restitute him as the rightful lord of Riverrun.  Merciful for all those Frey boys who now did not have any reason to continue to off each other.  She had freed her uncle and stay only a fortnight to witness the Blackwoods, Brackens, Mallisters and many other high lords of the region come to pledge allegiance to the Tullys once again.  As for the fate of the remaining Freys, she trusted the Lords of the Trident to deal with that as they saw fit.  Many of their own had died at the Red Wedding and Arya did not think mercy would cloud their judgement much.  Though it was plain to see that at least one or two Freys would survive, Edmure had a wife and babe after all.  

“Would you not stay?” her uncle had asked.

“My sword now belongs to the King in the North, if the rumors are true,” Arya had replied.

“As does mine.”  He had said without much joy.

Edmure had not been as skeptic as Arya upon learning the tidings coming from the North.  _A crown was meant for the bastard,_ he had said.  _The Young Wolf willed it so to the chagrin of his own mother_.

“Mother is dead,” Arya had said determined, “and wherever he may lead I intend to follow.”

“Robb loved him well, he never shied away from claiming him as his brother.  He chose him as his heir and those of us who were there to witness the decision cannot but follow through our word.”

“Will the Riverlands fight with him?” Arya asked incredulous.

“We bent the knee to the King in the North.  He is the King in the North.  From what is said, the Vale has already thrown in their lot with the Starks and the North and we must do the same if we are to survive the wrath of the Lannisters.”

“It is not the Lannisters that should worry us,” she had told her uncle.  “The Targaryen Queen has landed in the Stormlands and I suppose she will go after the Iron Throne.”

“We care not for the Iron Throne.”

“Neither did Thorren Stark have any southern ambitions and that didn’t stop Aegon from demanding the complete surrender of the North.”

“Then, the Vale, Trident and North must face together whatever may come.  Whether it is lions or dragons.  One mad queen or another.  It is also said that Cersei Lannister burned the Tyrells and other enemies alike.  What is the difference, child, between wild fire and dragon fire? When all is said and done, both end in death and destruction.”

“I am not a child,” Arya responded brusquely.  The way her uncle had looked at her then had betrayed the toll that life had taken on him.  He had wed and bedded a woman whose family betrayed and butchered his own family and not content with that they had sought fit to keep him alive and in chains, to remind him every day of his powerlessness. Edmure Tully was not a particular strong man. Humiliation had broken him and there was part of Arya who hated him for it but he was her mother’s only surviving sibling and that had to count for something.  The world had sought to end their line, the Starks, the Tullys, and yet they had persevered. 

“No, no you are not,” her uncle had responded, “and it is a shame. Life has robbed you of that.  But the winds have turned cold and the howling of the wolves only grows stronger each day.  Winter is not a time for children.”  He swallowed hard at those words, perhaps remembering his own babe.

“Will you come North?  Should I tell Jon to expect you?”

“The King in the North should expect our swords in time of need.  But I judge he will understand that traitors must be dealt with and internal affairs addressed before a Lord Paramount can take leave of his castle and people.” 

Arya nodded. By now, she knew the nature of men enough to know that despite his apparent frailty, Lord Tully meant to keep his word.  _Honor. Duty. Family._   The she-wolf looked at the fish and smiled, he smiled back and for a second she saw her mother in him.  

He had risen before the sun to set her on her way.  He had offered two of his men to escort her North.  She had refused.  _Might as well_ , he had said, _it might be you’d be escorting them_.  With those words they parted.  The fish to do his duty and the wolf to find her pack.

 


	25. SAM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys. So I got super stuck on this one chapter because I did not have a clear destination but I felt like I needed to include Sam because Frodo would have gone nowhere without his Samwise and Jon may feel the same about whatever contributions Samwell may bring to the table. Anyhow, it is what it is and I was simply glad I was able to finish it.

** SAM **

Archmaester Marwyn had told him to keep quiet about Daenerys Targaryen and whatever prophecies Maester Aemon had come to believe about her.  Else he warned, he may not be alive for long.  Sam did not fully believe the claims made by the old man but he quickly learned that the Citadel had nothing on Kingslanding as far as greed and intrigue were concerned.  His lord father had always said that the Red Keep was a viper’s nest that everyone should avoid as much as possible, Sam had come to feel the same about this place.

In the beginning he had sought to forge his chains as quickly as he could.  He spoke to the archmaesters about the urgency in which knowledge and service was needed at the Wall.  He had explained the cold winds rising North and the threat that came with it.  The archmaesters had long suspected the return of Winter, they had in fact, already sent white ravens to all regions announcing the official arrival of the season.  But at the mention of animated corpses and ice demons, these same learned men had turned away in dismissal.  

“I don’t understand why they will not listen to me,” he had told Alleras in exasperation.  “These men have seen and read more than we could ever hope to, why won’t they listen to me at such a moment of peril?”

“Magic,” Alleras had responded with a smirk.

“Magic?”

“A cursed word to them all.  They hate magic, learned men don’t have any use for magic, learned men create their own salvation through knowledge of the world around us.”

“They can hate magic as they please,” Sam countered. “But what good does it do to ignore facts? I am not lying.  I don’t have any proof, I know that, but you would think they would at least make an effort to hear me out.”

“Marwyn told you about the Citadel’s role in the destruction of the dragons. Did he not? _Dragons_.  Imagine that.  There is something grand and mesmerizing about dragons but is magic the first word that comes to mind when you think of them?  

Sam had been about to respond but Alleras shook his head and continued.

“No. Skin changers  are magical in nature. A man rising from the dead defies what is natural and therefore is magic.  Dragons may be wondrous or hellish but their existence can be explained, the same way in which direwolves can be explained.  And yet the Citadel made a plan to kill them off.  Why do you think that is?”

“Well, . . .” Sam started.

“Dragons were an obstacle to their path to power,” Alleras cut in once more.  “As long as the Targaryens had dragons, they could do as they pleased.  Neither the Citadel or the Faith had any real sway over the Dragon lords but take their hellish beasts away and the Targaryens lost their aura of divinity. It was then that the crown had to really align with the Seven, it was then that the Faith could bargain with them.  The Targaryens could claim to have the Gods behind them and the Faith could impact the small folk as much as they wished.  Then came the learned men, the men of the Citadel, offering servitude to the lords, disbursing advise but most importantly securing involvement in every decision made by the crown and its vessels.” 

“That is all well and good,” Sam said exasperated. “Dragons may have been an obstacle to power.  Fair enough.  But what comes north of the wall will pose a threat to our existence, it won’t matter who holds power if no one is alive to rule or be ruled.”

“My point is, Sam, that the archmaesters will allow no talk of magic to be spread across Westeros the way it once was. They know Daenerys and her dragons exist, they have heard the rumblings spread by the servants of the Lord of Light.  They are not idiots nor are they blind but they will deny and counter for as long as they can.  They are simply biding their time, Daenerys is a threat but one they believe they can ultimately control when the time comes. After all, dragons have gone from the world before. But now you come bearing news of mythical monsters, monsters no one has seen in millennia.  Monsters that were relegated to horror tales old servants told the children under their care.  Most will not believe you without proof but some might.  And some might connect the rebirth of dragons with the dead things rising in the North. Some may actually believe the whisperings of the red servants about how the world will be saved by one person and one person alone.  The chosen one.”

“Azor Ahai?” asked Sam.

“I heard the legend under different names.  Azor Ahai and his burning sword.  The Prince that was Promised.  The Last Hero.  The one to save us from darkness,” answered Alleras almost absentmindedly.

“Are the red priestess saying that Daenerys is this prophesied hero?” inquired Sam.

“She’s the only one with dragons in hundreds of years and she is the last surviving Targaryen.” replied Alleras.

“The red servants can be wrong.  The one at the Wall believed that Stannis Baratheon was Azor Ahai, he even had a flaming sword. But the Baratheons are no more.”

“The Citadel does not care if they are wrong or right.  They will discredit the rumors regardless.  Prophecies and magic, they are a thing of the past and harmful besides.”

“Do you believe that?” asked Sam looking straight at Alleras and noticing not for the first time that there was something a bit peculiar about the young novice.

“Of course not, I was raised with an open mind.  But I also heard stories of people who changed the  outcome of their lives and the lives around them by dabbling in magic or to follow hollow prophecies.”

“Summerhall,” said Sam remembering the tale of the tragic end of _Aegon the Unlikely_ and the birth of Rhaegar Targaryen.

“Do you read minds, Samuel Tarley?” smiled Alleras.

Sam simply shrugged. “I remember reading all about Summerhall when I was nine.  No one thought of Aegon V as mad yet so many died due to his obsession with prophecy.”

“That particular madness of chasing prophecy didn’t end with the devastation at Summerhall,” added Alleras.  “Aegon V did not end up destroying his entire house but for Daenerys, Rhaegar did.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sam.

“The maesters say that a young Rhaegar became obsessed with the prophecy of the Prince that  was Promised who was said to come from his parents’ line.”

“Yes.” Sam interrupted.  “Maester Aemon told me that Rhaegar believed he was to be this hero and so he trained with sword and shield until he became as good as he could.  But he was wrong—”

“He was and he understood that long before his death.  By the time he married the Martell princess, he had decided his three children would fulfill the prophecy somehow.”

“Three children?  There were only two.  Both dead by the hands of Robert Baratheon.”

“By the hands of Tywin Lannister,” Alleras corrected with some spite on his voice.  

Sam had probably looked at him funny for Alleras added _maesters always keep the right facts_.

“What happened to this third child?”

“There was no third child,” Alleras said “but not for a lack of trying.  In fact, he tried so diligently that he left his family in search for a third child and in doing so caused the destruction of all of his house and the near destruction of another ancient house.”

“The Starks?” asked Sam. He had suddenly remembered what he had read about the reasons behind Robert’s Rebellion.  Both Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark dead defending the virtue of an only daughter and sister taken against her will by the crowned prince.  The topic had never come up with either Jon or Maester Aemon.

“A young Lyanna Stark, blood of an ancient House.  There for the taking and he needed another child.  Elia no longer able to bear more dragons.  In the end, the prince sacrificed everything, even lives he had no right sacrificing, for nothing. Aerys, Elia, Aegon, Rhaenys, Rickard, Brandon, Lyanna all dead to bring forth the Prince that was Promised who never came.”

“Daenerys could still be the one they speak of, couldn’t she?”

“If these ice creatures are truly rising in the North, like you claim, you better hope that Daenerys is more than just an exiled princess looking to regain power.”

“Do you know anyone who has seen these dragons in person?” asks Sam hopeful.

“Why do you ask?”

“I think Jon should know but I do not want to tell him without first verifying the information.  I mean he’s heard the rumors but I do not think he pay them much heed. But if she is who they say she is and if she has dragons—”

“Who is Jon?”

“The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.  The person who sent me here. The bravest person I know.”

“Father figure?”

“More like brother. He is of age with me, more or less.”

“And Commander already?”  Alleras said as he moved towards the window.

“Not the youngest in history but quiet young.  Truth is he had no choice in the matter really. We voted for him without his consent. And now he will lead us against the biggest threat we have ever faced but he needs help and I mean to do what is right by him.”

“Then, Sam,” Alleras said while staring at something down in the gardens. “I recommend you learn all you have to learn and make any discoveries you need to make about these monsters but do not waste your time with the archmaesters, they’ll provide you with no help.  In fact, you have now made yourself very visible to them and they will keep an eye on you.  Do as Marwyn said, keep your head down and say nothing.  And this wife of yours—”

“Wife?” asked with fake indignation.

“The wildling.  The one that is standing right outside the building.”

“Gilly?” Sam said alarmed as he moved towards the window and spotted Gilly, minus baby Sam, nervously wandering about. “How do you know about her?”

“I like knowing things, Sam.  The important thing here though is that the Citadel does not know about her and this must be used to your advantage.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” 

Alleras had then suggested a plan which Sam had balked at immediately but Gilly quickly embraced later that day when he had shared his conversation with Alleras.

“I should have never told you that part.  It serves me right, I should have known that you would agreed to it.” Sam had lamented, perhaps a little too dramatically because Gilly was not having any of it.

“Sam, you know me well enough to know that this was going to be my reaction. You told me because you wanted me to make this decision and that is fine. Besides we are together in this, you said the Lord Commander would need all the help that he could get.  Did you not?”

Sam said nothing at that, she was right, there was no argument to be had.


	26. DOLOROUS EDD

**DOLOROUS EDD**

****

The sentry had blasted his horn twice that morning.  Edd had not waited for word, he had left the warmth of his solar immediately in search of answers.

“Two wildlings outside the gate, Lord Commander. One seems to be injured. What should we do?”

“Are we sure they are wildllings and not wights?” asked Edd.

“One of them shouted something at us. Do wights shout or speak?”

_With my luck_ , Edd thought but said instead “let us go to the gate and find out.”

Two guards stood at the entrance of the tunnel leading to the northern gate, the Watch’s numbers were low and Edd thought that guards patrolling on top of the Wall were in this case more indispensable. Past the guards, there was no additional line of defense other than the gate itself.  But the Lord Commander had seen the walkers and wights in person, he knew full well if the supposed magic of the wall did not held them back, the Watch did not stand a chance.  He supposed sooner or later he would join the army of the dead, fate would never be kind enough to just let him be dead dead.

The short walk towards the gate had been quiet. Edd had been immersed in his thoughts and had not noticed till now the hitch in his men’s breaths.  Anticipation was always the worse, at least in the fury of battle, there was no thinking or second guessing, just trying to survive.  Still, he would wish and not for the first time that Jon Snow had never placed such burden on him. 

“Open the gate,” came the muffled voice of what appeared to be a woman.  The voice was strained, like a shouting whisper.

“Where do you come from? Craster’s?” Dolorous Edd shouted back.

“Winterfell,” said a stronger, deeper voice.

“Your names.” Edd shouted as his men looked puzzled. 

“Meera Reed and Bran Stark,” the male voice answered.

There was silence.  The Watch men looked at each other in confusion and hesitation, then they turned their eyes to their Lord Commander.

“Open the gate before they come for us,” shouted the woman.  This time her voice became stronger.

Edd lowered his voice, _swords out_ , he said _do not attack unless I command_.

“Open the gate half way,” he shouted to the gate guards.

The men stood in attention, never taking their eyes off the rising gate.  Edd could feel the dread dripping from their souls.

The first thing he saw was the man, covered in furs and snow, laying on a plank fashioned to be pulled by a companion.  Jon had said his brother was a cripple.  The boy did look half dead but not dead, Edd breathed easier.  Then as the gate was raised a bit higher he saw whom he assumed to be Meera, though he had already forgotten her house name. The moment she laid eyes on the men at the gate, the light in her eyes extinguished a bit. As if she had been running on borrowed strength. Or so Edd thought. 

“Help me,” she said.  Edd then realized that they all had just stood there motionless looking at the curious pair as she was attempting to pull the young man pass the gate.

“Excuse us, m’lady,” Edd said and he motioned for his men to pull Bran to safety.  Once over the gate, the boy’s voice rang again.

“Close the gate and block the entrance, they will be here soon.  I need to see Jon, take me to him.”

“Who will be here?” Edd asked though he suspected he knew the answer.  A shiver ran through him.

“The Night’s King and his army.  There is no one else to fight him out there, he’s coming for me.”

“For all of us,” Meera interjected.

“For all of us,” Bran confirmed.  “Bring Jon, bring my brother to me.  We have to get ready.”

“Jon is no longer here.  He is no longer the Lord Commander.”  Edd said.

“Lord Commander?”  Bran said confused.

“Well, he was Lord Commander and then he was murdered by his own men but the red lady brought him back.  He was not happy, not that he ever was mind you. Anyway he ended his Watch and he left with your sister, the red head.  Funny thing with Jon and redheads . . .”  Ed said almost smiling but got serious again upon seeing the confusion in Bran’s face. “The last raven I got from him said that they were back in Winterfell.  He is now King in the North and is preparing the North for what is to come.”

“Winterfell,” Bran said as he turned to Meera.  “We are going home.”

In the end, after a night of nourishment and rest, they both had gone home. A raven had flown to Winterfell the day of Bran’s arrival to the Wall, announcing his return. At the request of Lady Sansa, northmen had come to escort Bran Stark home, among them the Lady Brienne and Tormund. The brave Lady Meera had left with them but her final destination was Greywater Watch or so he heard her tell Bran.  She accepted no escort past a certain point, she meant to guard the privacy of her people.  The enigmatic crannogmen needed to be warned about what was coming, she said.  They needed to prepare and join the fight.  

Dolorous had been quite taken with the lady and he did not fail to see that a light had turned on again in her eyes as she left Castle Black.  He could see the longing in her eyes, she had fulfill her duty to her liege lord and now she was heading home.  Edd wished with all his heart that she make it there safe.  _The crannogmen should stay hidden_ , he thought, _hidden and safe_.  _No need for all of us to died if it can be helped_. 

With the arrival of Lady Brienne, Edd had also learned of Jon’s departure to the Stormlands. Lady Sansa’s words included bits about the Targaryen Queen and her dragons and Jon’s quest to bring obsidian back to the North.  The Lady Sansa was ruling the North in his stead and the Northern houses were preparing to face the threat.  There was no mention of reinforcements for the Watch but Bran Stark’s parting words left no confusion about where House Stark stood in terms of the Watch.  

“We’ll see each other again, Lord Commander,” Bran had said.  “We will all fight the Night’s King to the best of our abilities. We all have a role to play.”  With that the visitors had gone and the men of the Night’s Watch had felt as abandoned as ever.

 


	27. SANSA

** SANSA **

The raven had come at night and prudent Maester Wolkan had been wise enough to slip the note unto Sansa’s hand without alerting anyone of its arrival.  She had been fearful upon seeing the seal of the Night’s Watch, what would she do if the Watch was under attack? How many men should she send if any?  _Jon should not have gone_ , she thought not for the first time. Then the Lady in her took over and she shook all her fears away, she broke the seal at once and read the content.

Something inside her bursted open and released so many emotions all at once.  Relief, joy, uncertainty.  Her knees buckled and she was forced to steady herself against the back of a chair.  She noticed a big figure approach her tentatively and it is then that she became keenly aware of the people inside her chamber and she made a gamble to trust them because as it was she could not in truth hold her emotions.  She was steel for most of her waking hours, the note had caught her off guard.  Had she not known that there were enemies about her, the news that she had just learned would have merited open weeping and laughter.  Instead, she allowed a few tears to run freely down her cheeks. Ghost who had been staying with her since Jon’s departure, nudged her hand and she understood his concern. She gently caress his ear and that seemed to do the trick, with one last look at her, he plopped down on the floor and closed his eyes.

“Dark words, my lady?”  Lady Brienne had asked concerned.

She looked at her knight and then at the maester who had remained rooted, uncertain of what to do.  They hardly knew each other but that is something Sansa could not think about that right now. It was a leap of faith and sometimes those must be taken.

“Bran, my little brother, is alive and at Castle Black.” She handed the note to Brienne.

“Do you trust it?”

“It is signed by Dolorous, he would not lie.  Jon trusted him, I trust him.”

“It is great news, my lady. Perhaps now even your sister will also make her way back to your family.”

Sansa had expected her little sister to return any day now.  If she was alive and knew that Jon was King, she would eventually find her way home.  She loved Jon so.  But tonight she put any thoughts of her away, Bran needed her.

“Lady Brienne, Maester Wolken,” Sansa said as they both took a step towards her.  “The content of the note is our secret. My brother’s safety is paramount. To most Bran is presumed dead and that is to our advantage. No one finds out about him until he is back within these walls for all to witness. Do I have your word?”

“You have my word, my lady.” Brienne answered immediately.

“Mine as well,” Wolken said without hesitation.

“I thank you both but I will also need ask more than just your words.  Brienne, I trust no one but you to escort my brother back.  You must take a couple of men with you without arising suspicion. Podrick and Tormund perhaps. My brother will not be able to mount but I trust that the Night’s Watch would provide you with a cart to make his travel comfortable.”

“Is it wise my lady to trust that wildling? asked Maester Wolken.

“Tormund will do as Brienne says,” said Sansa.  Brienne had turned red at that which would have made Sansa laugh but her mind was preoccupied with Bran.  She continued, “I know what Jon means to him, he will protect Bran as Jon protected his people.”

“I pray you are right,” said Wolken.

“I need more than your praying, maester.  I don’t know what conditions my brother finds himself in, the details were awfully lacking but the last time I lay eyes on him, he was bedridden having lost the use of his legs.  I want you to be at the ready for whatever he may end up needing. Consult your books and see what can be done to make his life easier.  He is the rightful Lord of Winterfell and he will be treated thus.”

“As you say, my lady.” Wolken answered.  He half turned but then remembered himself, his eyes went back to Sansa.

“My lady . . . “ he hesitated.

“Go on,” said Sansa.

“And the King? Should we send a raven to Dragonstone?”

“No,” she said without hesitation. “Not until Bran is safe within these walls.  The one thing the King can do without is uncertainty.  When he hears the news, I want it to be true. But until I see Bran passing through our gates, we will not burden the King.”

Wolken nodded.

“You are free to go, maester,” she said.  As Wolken turned, she impulsively laid a hand on his arm. “What will you say when asked about your visit to my chamber at this hour? You will be asked, there are always people watching.”

“You were inconvenienced by pain my lady.  I will tell them that it isn’t unusual for ladies to be troubled thus once every month.  Would it do, my lady?

She nodded.  With a bow the maester disappeared through the front door.  Now it was just Sansa and her knight.

“Lord Baelish—” Brienne started before getting cut off.

“I would not trust the lives of any of my siblings to him.”

“I gathered that Lady Sansa, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving your side whilst he remains at Winterfell.”

“Littlefinger will not harm me and risk the wrath of a King.”

“A King who is a great distance away.” 

“Littlefinger will not touch me, my lady.  He . . .” Sansa hesitated, her mind conjures the words _not yet_ , but she uttered instead, “but to make certain, I will keep Ghost’s company from now until your return. You need not fear, Jon left him for a reason and he will protect me as he would Jon but I do beg that you leave for Castle Black upon the hour.”

“About my companions . . .”

“Tormund will remain loyal, my lady.”  Brienne is about to object but Sansa continues, “He will remain loyal to Jon but I trust that he will also remain loyal to you.  I trust no one else.”

“As you command, my lady” With that Brienne took leave and left Sansa alone with her revolving emotions.

A sob broke through which she quickly swallowed.  Ghost was up again looking at her, sometimes when that happened, she felt her brother’s presence. She smiled at the white wolf.

“Bran is alive,” she told the wolf as he continued to stared knowingly.  Sansa felt drawn to his gaze and without thinking about it she knelt to level with him.  She searched his eyes.

“Our brother is alive.  What does that mean to you? You almost died to rescue Rickon but that was when you were only a bastard without a title, an oathbreaker besides.  By rights, Bran is our Lord and yet you stand as King, brother.  Will you still love our trueborn brother if he comes and takes everything from you?

Ghost stared at her and she could almost hear him say, _will you_?  With that the tears started flowing freely as she held on to the white wirewolf for dear life.  Sansa knew the answers to the questions, both her own and Ghost’s but something was broken inside her and she was afraid to trust anyone, especially herself.

 


	28. JAMIE

** JAMIE **

It seemed to Jamie that every time Qyburn came with news, the circle surrounding them got tighter.  No one had moved against the Red Keep, no one had insinuated such move but whispers had come about meetings, alliances, restitutions and deaths amongst enemies and allies alike. 

The Targaryen woman had taken possession of her ancestral home. A dwarf and fat eunuch were rumored to be with her.  Cersei had cackled at that bit, Jamie knew that deep down, his sister had always had a bit of admiration for their younger brother’s sagacity and survivor skills.  

“Father’s murderer and the eunuch both with the dragon bitch.  I wonder how long it took them to plan it all out?” she asked.

No one gave her an answer but Qyburn did add, “Martell,Tyrell and Greyjoy vessels were also spotted amongst its fleet.”

“Greyjoy’s?” asked Jamie. 

“Lord Baylon’s children, I’m told,” answered Qyburn.  “The interesting bit is that Euron Greyjoy has taken the Seastone Chair for himself, so we may be dealing with two separate Greyjoy factions.”

“Useful,” said Cersei. “Euron, is he the pirate? The one who was exiled?”

A couple of days after that came the news of the decimation of the Boltons and the return of House Stark as leaders in the North.  His sister had been enraged by every rumor coming from the North.  Qyburn had told them the Vale had declared for the Starks, led by Littlefinger.  

“The meek redhead bitch now sits as Lady of Winterfell, does she now?” spitted Cersei.

“She does, your Grace.  And her brother sits as King in the North,” answered Qyburn.

“Her brothers are all dead, did one manage to return from the dead?” asked Jamie.

“Her older brother, a Snow, that is who the northern lords bent the knee to.”

“The bastard? Was he not in the Night’s Watch?” asked Jamie.

“He is a bloody bastard,” said Cersei, “what would you expect from him?”

“You could have his head for oathbreaking,” said Jamie and he immediately felt a pang of shame. He was the last person in the world who could call out someone for breaking oaths.  Hadn’t he promised his life to the Kingsguard?

“Oathbreaker, traitor, usurper . . . I can have his head for many and no reason at all.  He is Ned Stark’s son and that is reason enough.  Why should any of the Stark pups live when our golden lions are gone?” she asked no one in particular.

“Do you want to send troops against the North, your Grace?” asked Qyburn.

“No,” Jamie said immediately.  He felt Cersei’s gaze burn a hole in him.  She was queen now, he had to remember, and she did not take well to being contradicted.  Still, Jamie was going to have his say, else he fear what his impulsive sister might order.

“The Citadel has confirmed the arrival of Winter, have they not Maester Qyburn?” Jamie asked.  To this Qyburn just gave him a brief nod, Jamie continued. “The North must now be blanketed in snow and the cold winds must make the region almost impenetrable.  Vale forces may still be lingering about so the North is not in a position of weakness.  They may not matched our numbers but they still have the advantage of familiar terrain.  And if we decide to stretch our forces and  thin our numbers at home, we may risk an attack by the Targaryen woman.  We may never win back the North and we may end up losing the South.”

“So let them be?” asked Cersei in a mocked tone.  “How can I ever rest knowing my son’s killer sits gleefully in Winterfell, she is probably laughing at me?”

“Revenge sometimes requires patience, your Grace.” Qyburn assured her.

“That is right,” added Jamie.  “There will come a time when you are able to rid the world of Starks but it need not be today or tomorrow.  There are bigger threats to attend to.”

The news only got worse short after.  Edmure Tully had regained his seat and title in the Riverlands.  The Freys, whatever was left of them, were destitute and the Lords of the Trident had not wasted any time laying their swords before the Fish. Whatever Lannister forces had been present had sagely gone without disturbance to live another day.  

“The old  man got a dagger to the throat,” said one of the fleeing soldier. “No one knew the whereabouts of the two oldest sons but soon limbs and clothing were found.  After that a number of Frey men starting dropping dead.  Some by their own kin doing but mostly the rumor was that their demise was in payment for the Red Wedding.  The Rat Cook song was sung in every inn nearby.”

“Who liberated Lord Tully,” Jamie asked remembering the broken man he had left behind.

“A ghost it is said, the ghost of his lady sister.”

After the soldier had gone from the room, Cersei asked Qyburn if the Riverlands had declared for the Starks. 

“There has been no word, your Grace.  But Lady Sansa is a Tully and I would imagine her uncle would be inclined to side with kin.”

“Do you still think that it is wise to ignore the Starks, brother? asked Cersei with certain venom in her tone.

Jamie thought carefully before speaking, in military terms they were surrounded by enemies without any easy scape routes.  His sister was revenge driven but they could ill afford to act impulsively.  They needed a plan and the first step was identifying the true enemy.

“What I believe your Grace is that we sit surrounded by threats that could descend on us any minute.  We need to figure out how and when to move and most importantly we need to start moving other pieces to our advantage.  We can not move forcefully against any house past the the Reach and north of the Neck.  Let them enjoy their Snow King, they will not move against us while the Dragon Queen hovers in the Stormlands.  Remember, I may have killed Aerys but the Starks and Arryns brought down the dragon reign.  I am sure the Targaryen woman bears no love for them either. They are as safe from a dragon attack as we are.”

“What then? Do we wait and see who she attacks first?”

“For some unknown reason, she has not made her move yet,” Jamie said and wondered privately if his brother had any influence in the decision.  Perhaps he was trying to protect them after all. Then he remembered the foul odor emanating from Tywin’s corpse and decided that his brother was truly lost to him.

“Maybe,” he continued, “she is trying to draw us out to avoid destroying the city.  Lannisters in the open field would be a gift to her.  Our greatest strength at the moment is the Red Keep and the people in Kingslanding whom we can use as a shield.  She would perhaps want to avoid unnecessary carnage, least people equate her to the Mad King.”

“You underestimate her brother, she has not crossed the Narrow Sea to watch my reign from afar.  The Targaryen words are Fire and Blood, are they not?”

“They are,” conceded Jamie.

“She will come and people will die, be it by her fire or mine.  I will not give up what has cost me so much sorrow and loss.  I would see us all burn before anyone dares to take away my rule.  Father wanted me a Queen and now I am one of my own accord.  I won the War of Five Kings, I will not lose against a single pretender, no matter how much more beautiful and younger she is.”

And so it was that Cersei agreed to leave the North and his bastard King unbothered for the moment.  The Lannisters would turn their eyes nearby instead.  Highgarden was leaderless and though Lady Oleanna had pledged their forces to the Dragon Queen, she had left the Reach vulnerable to an invasion in doing so.  Jamie knew that they needed to grow their numbers, Highgarden could now be taken and with it the remaining men of the Reach.  A raven had already been sent to Lord Tarly who may not have dared betray a Tyrell but Lady Oleanna was no such thing.  

In the end,  _Warden of the Reach_ proved an enticing title, the Reach was thus taken without much blood.  Lady Oleanna was kept a prisoner lets the Redwynes entertained any ideas of vengeance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Jon chapter should follow this one for those who have been wondering when we'll get to him next.


	29. JON

**JON**

Jon was being watched.  He felt eyes on him every waking minute of his stay at Dragonstone.

“They may be even watching me sleep,” he shared with this trusted advisor as they watched waves crushing against the stones surrounding the beach.  Jon had felt the place would give them the opportunity to speak without being heard.  Though guards stood nearby as always.

“I feel it too, your Grace.  The Dragon Queen will not trust easily it seems.”  Davos answered. 

“I expected the reluctancy she showed at the news from the North, I also expected arrogance. Kings, and Queens it seems, do not take kindly to being defied,” Jon said, remembering how King Stannis had been annoyed by Jon’s continuous refusal.  “I was not surprised at the reception.  I think that it may have been worse had Lord Tyrion not been present.  But what does she expect that I’ll do during my stay at Dragonstone?  Steal dragon glass? Steal a dragon?”

“Well,” Davos hesitated, “the black beast did seem to like you.  And the queen did not fail to notice.”

“Do you think it was a mistake, Ser Davos,” Jon asked, “approaching the dragon the way I did?”

“By now, I’ve no doubt of your bravery, your Grace.  But at times, I wonder, and I mean no disrespect, if you’ve considered that you no longer belong to yourself.  Your integrity is now a matter of survival not only for your sister back in Winterfell but also for all the men and women who have vowed to follow you.  So, yes, I thought it was a mistake for you to approach the dragon so nonchalantly, without a single thought to your life.”

Jon was taken aback by Davos’ frankness, though he knew he should not be.  Davos has never been anything if not honest.  Still, to hear it said - you no longer belong to yourself - it made his mouth taste of bitterness.  _When has my life truly belonged to me?_ Jon wanted to ask.  _Not for a very long time_.

“I never feared for my life, Ser Davos,” Jon managed to say.  “As dumb as that may sound, the encountered terrified me in inexplicable ways but loss of life was not one of them.”

“Why did it terrify you?”

“I do not know but I have not been able to shake the feeling since. It nags at me but at the same time, I don’t think I want to know.  I had never been south before this trip, Ser Davos.  When we were children my brother and I used to play pretend, we were always one king, one knight or another.  Daeron the Dragon Knight, was my favorite.  Back then I used to imagine riding south and discovering a whole new world that was denied to me because of how I came to this world.  You always imagine that which you don’t have as something grand.  It turns out it is not.  I stand at the footsteps of the Targaryen stronghold and I feel outside myself.  I was born in the south but the north is in my very veins.”

“You are homesick, your Grace.”

Jon smiled and considered his words carefully.  Merely homesick was not it but he did not know how to explain it to Ser Davos, how do you explain something you can not understand yourself?

“I have not been able to feel Ghost since I touched the dragon.  I . . . sometimes, I dream of my wolf and that is how I know he is ok.  I’ve had no wolf dreams since that day.”

“Have you dreamt with the dragon?” Davos asked intrigued.

“No,” Jon shook his head.  _I won’t allow it_ , he wanted to add but didn't.

“I heard some talk about you being a warg.  Wildlings, it seems, admire that about you.”

“Nonsense.  I’ve met wargs amongst the wildlings, my lord.  I am no warg.  Ghost has never done anything he does not want.  I am connected to my wolf because the Gods will it so.  Six pups for six Starks.  We were meant to have them as guidance. We are a pack of the North—”

“Your Grace,” a voice interrupts.  Neither Davos or Jon had noticed Missandei approaching.

“My lady,” Jon said, “is anything wrong?”

“A raven has come for you. It bears the wolf seal. Lord Tyrion is keeping the note safe for you. If it pleases your Grace, both he and the Queen are waiting for you in her solar.”

“Thank you, my lady. Ser Davos, please accompany me.”

Jon followed Missandei with a dozen of ideas flowing around his mind.  He knows Sansa would not have written unless something important had occurred.  They had agreed to that.  They wanted the Dragon Queen’s help but it was also not to their advantage to show too much weakness.  The North need appear strong, orderly and united.  Jon had promised to keep her updated but he had yet to send any word to her.  Perhaps she had grown preoccupied or perhaps the maneuvering snake of Lord Baelish had gone too far.  If he had, he'd be dead if not by Lady Brienne’s sword by Ghost’s teeth.  Unless . . . he had not felt Ghost in a while.  Jon’s heart started beating furiously and he quicken his pace, leaving both Missandei and Davos behind.

 


	30. TYRION

**TYRION**

“Ah, your Grace, here you are,” said Tyrion at the sight of the King in the North entering the solar.  He didn’t fail to notice how Daenerys had stiffen her body, holding her head as high as possible.  It seemed she never wanted to look anything but queenly before this king who probably cared very little for such things.  

“Your Grace,” Jon bowed towards Daenerys but quickly turned his focus on Tyrion. “Lord Tyrion, I am told a raven came for me.”

“Indeed it did,” said Tyrion approaching the table and grabbing the scroll on top of it.  He watched Snow carefully, and unsurprisingly he could not read much of what was going on his mind.  Dany had told him that she did not trust his inscrutable face, she had suggested they read the message beforehand.  Tyrion had talked her out of that, he trusted his solemn friend.  He handed the scroll to him.

He saw as Jon’s eyes moved across the scroll and there for a slight moment a smile came to his face, the creases on his forehead soften and he continued reading in silence. Tyrion looked at his queen and saw that she was growing inpatient. 

“I hope is not bad news your Grace,” Tyrion said. “Is everything alright with the Lady Sansa?”

It was only then that Jon took his eyes off the note.  He looked around as if he had forgotten where he was.

“Aye,” Jon said.  “No worries my lord, the Lady of Winterfell is rather well.” Turning towards Daenerys he added “would it be much trouble if I were to borrow a raven, your Grace?  My lady sister would want to make sure I received her note.”

“Of course,” Dany answered. “Missandei can send a note on your behalf if you let her know what it is to be communicated.”

“I thank you, my lady” Jon said to Missandei who had come forward.  “But Sansa would look for my writing.  I would be much grateful if you can provide me with parchment, ink and a raven.  I was a steward once, I am well acquainted with the process.”

Missandei looked at her queen, Dany acceded with a nod.  The young advisor took her leave.

Jon turned to Dany, “Your Grace, I want to thank you for your hospitality and though I was looking forward to a longer stay, family matters will expedite my return home.”

“Is anything the matter, Jon Snow?” Daenerys said with a mixture of concern and contempt. 

“No, your Grace,” answered Jon.  “The Lord of Winterfell, my brother, Brandon Stark has returned home. Last I saw him he was a child of eleven and now he’s almost a man grown.  He has called for me, he has seen the real enemy and knows what is coming for all of us. He said there is no time to waste and I do not mean to make him wait.”

“How did the little cripple survive all this time?” asked Tyrion and he saw Davos and Daenerys grimaced at the word but I guess Jon knew him well enough to understand he meant no harm.

“The Starks have survived for thousands and thousands of years in the North, Lord Tyrion.  It is only the South that seems not to agree with us.”

“Will you keep the crown?” Daenerys asked, “Or will I need to ask King Brandon to kneel before me?”  By her expression, Tyrion could tell she regretted those words the minute they came out of her mouth.  But the actual question had its legitimacy, Tyrion wondered if Jon had even considered the implications of the return of a true born son of Eddard Stark.

“If my brother wishes the title, the title shall be his.  I would be glad to serve him well and counsel him as needed though I am almost certain his answer to your question would be the same as mine.  We were raised by the same father.”

“If you love your crown so little Snow, why do you so vehemently deny my request in exchange for the manpower you seek to fight this great battle you speak of?”  

“I don’t have a particular need to be royal, your Grace.” Jon answered.  “You come from an endless lineage of Kings and Queens, perhaps the idea of a crown or a royal title is just an essential part of who you are. Maybe you cannot see yourself as anything else.”

“The Starks,” Tyrion interrupted, “ruled the North as Kings for millennia.  A bastard you may be but royal blood runs through your veins all the same.”

“Be that as it may, when Thorren Stark bent the knee to Aegon and his sisters, a crown was turned over but everything else remained the same.  Aegon may have forced Thorren to kneel and give away his royal title but he left him with what he loved most.  The Starks have never surrendered the one thing that matters above all else: the North. If my brother wishes to be King, I know the North would be safe so there would be no hesitation on my part.”

“Would the North be in bad hands then, if you were to kneel before me?  

“I know very little of you your Grace, I shall not presume to know your virtues or your faults.  But you are not of the North.  You do not know about our struggles and you do not want to know.  I have come to you in good faith, I have told you no Northern hand will be raised against your cause in your quest for the Iron Throne.  But that it seems is not enough.  When you asked me to kneel before you, you were not asking for a mere crown or title.  You were asking me to essentially give you the lives of my men for you to command.  These are still your expectations even after I shared with you the enormity of the threat we are facing.  I can not have my men fighting Lannister soldiers when monsters are threatening to break down the Wall.”

There was a long awkward pause when no one said anything.  Both Daenerys and Jon were fuming, a part of Tyrion could not help but be amused at the obstinate monarchs.  Daenerys had a tendency to get easily irked by what she assumes is disrespect.  Snow on the other hand had very little patience for impracticality. Davos shifted uncomfortably on his spot, looking at the floor, his eyes only rising when his King spoke again.

“Still, I wish you luck your Grace. If I cannot convince you to turn your energy to the real threat, then I must wish you a swift victory for the Iron Throne.  Lord Tyrion speaks highly of you and I know the tales of your battles against slavery. I’ve never met Cersei Lannister but a person who burns down her enemies so callously is not fit to govern.  The small folk may yet have a champion in you.”

“A swift victory for me, Jon Snow, will mean an end to your Kingship,”  Daenerys interrupted.

“The Iron Throne sits in the South. The North has no business there.  When you take Kingslanding and the Reach you will secure what you ambition.  I understand Dorne has already picked sides—“

“The Reach has as well,” Dany added.  “Lady Oleanna has joined the Tyrell fleet to mine.”

“Has Lord Tarly agreed to fight for you?”

“Lord Tarly?” Daenerys turned to Tyrion for answers.

“He has not,” added Tyrion.  

“The Reach will not be secured until you win him over. Lady Oleanna is not a Tyrell, without a legitimate heir, the riches of House Tyrell are up for grabs and that is a tempting title.” 

“We are working on it,” Tyrion told Jon.  In truth, they were not.  Daenerys trusted the Queen of Thornes’ persuasive abilities but Tyrion suspected a fleet was all they were going to get from the Reach.

“When the battles come,” Jon turned to look at Tyrion, “I beseech you to burn the bodies, friend and foe alike.”  Then his eyes turned to Daenerys, “you may not believe me enough to join your forces to mine to fight the Night’s King and his army.  But I do hope you understand that I gain nothing by warning you of the coming danger.”

Tyrion watched as his queen stared intently into Snow’s eyes, who did not waver.  “Very well. You said your peace, Jon Snow.  I take your word on the North’s lack of aspirations for the Iron Throne.  I suppose you are correct, Cersei Lannister and her forces will occupy my forces until we have secured Kings Landing and the southern region.  I cannot promise that I will never set eyes on uniting the Seven Kingdoms as Aegon once did.  But I will not turn my eye on the North and its allies until stability is established in the south.”

“I sincerely hope that it is not too late by then and that you may still come to our aid, Daenerys.” Jon said in a much softer tone and Tyrion noticed a light passed in his queen’s eyes.  It may have been the first time Snow had called her by her name, leaving formalities behind.  Tyrion suspected that the bastard had done that on purpose, to see if he could get the young woman to see what the queen could not.

Daenerys’ steeled herself once more. “Good luck then, Jon Snow. I believe we are done here.”

“One more thing, your Grace.”

“Yes?”

“Obsidian.  Dragonstone is rich in obsidian, obsidian kills the walkers.  For the love you bare your family’s legacy, let us take some home.  It is not the Starks that you would be helping but the small folk, a man, woman, a boy, a girl, who would then have a chance to defend themselves.”

“Rocks, is that what you are asking for?” questioned Daenerys.

 “Rocks, your Grace. Rocks that sit ignored in this great stronghold but could mean life for people up North.”

The back and forth had gone on for a few more minutes between the dragon and the wolf. Neither giving an inch to the other but neither willing to irreversibly part as enemies.  Snow had seemed frustrated but Tyrion could see that he was no longer the young, naive, arrogant boy he had met long ago at Winterfell.  He had even showed restrained a few days past when confronted by the broken kraken prince who had tried so hard to avoid the encounter. His bastard friend had always been solemn but now it seemed that he truly carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.  And maybe he really did. 

Daenerys had asked her Hand if he believed the tall tales of wights and ice creatures rising in the North.  All he could tell her is that the Jon he knew would not lie about something like that.  She then asked him if he thought she should join Jon’s cause instead of going after Cersei and the throne.  He had hesitated but in the end his need to see the end of his sister’s reign had overpowered his common sense.  He had felt guilty ever since, perhaps that had been motivator enough for the gift he gave Jon unbeknownst to his Queen.


	31. THEON

** THEON **

Theon had witnessed the arrival of Jon to the shores of Dragonstone. He had watched from a tower as the dwarf and the bastard had shaken hands.  Seeing Jon, even from such a distance, had given Theon a feeling of immense solitude, shame and longing.  He would have given anything to be able to go back in time and find himself in Winterfell’s courtyard bickering with both Robb and Jon as the three often did.  Back in those days, he took pleasure in reminding Jon of his bastard status.  As a political ward he felt belittled even though he was treated well and never denied the education and training lords were born into.  He was Theon Greyjoy of Pike, the heir to the Iron Islands.  He should have been Robb’s equal but he did not feel so.  Robb, Sansa, Bran, Arya and Rickon all came before him.  They were Starks and he was not, but how often did he wanted to be one? Jon, on the other hand, was a Snow and it irked him to see him be treated as their equal. Lady Catelyn may have hated him, Sansa may have ignored him but the others loved him.  A love Theon craved and believed he deserved.  He hated Jon but he knew even then that he would have traded places with him in a heart beat. 

The bastard of Winterfell was a King now and Theon was only a shadow of his former self, too afraid to look him in the eye.  Theon knew Jon, he knew that he was his father’s son.  _He will never forgive me_ , Theon thought, _even if I helped our sister escape_.  He wondered if Sansa had told him how he had saved her from Miranda and how they had jumped to freedom together.  Did he know that he had been willing to die to protect their sister?  _But you killed your brother,_ the voice in his head reminded him. _Robb died because you betrayed him_.  

No, Jon would never forgive him.  And he wouldn’t have the energy to beg for his life.  That is why he sought to avoid a meeting altogether.  His sister and he were bound to sail away in a few days time regardless, once the dragon’s queen council decided on a course of action.  How Snow figured into all of this? He did not know.  But he knew that all he needed to do in the meantime is lay low.  No one would even remember his existence and Jon need not know of his presence in Dragonstone. 

Asha had not been invited to sit in this first meeting with the King in the North, Lord Tyrion had told Daenerys that it was hardly convenient for Jon to be subjected to the Greyjoy’s presence.  After all the Greyjoys were accused of pillaging the North and putting Winterfell to the torch.  Theon had tried to explain that it had not been him but Ramsay Snow.  _All the same to them_ , Tyrion had said with a bit of gusto in his tone. The dwarf could do little to disguise his disgust for Theon.  But he was right.  Sansa had “forgiven” him in a moment of vulnerability, there would be no such moment between him and Jon. So he made himself scarce. 

“You haven’t gone out of your chambers for days now Theon.  You are a Greyjoy of Pike,  you do not coward before a wolf.  A bastard at that,” Asha had told him that morning.

“You do not understand,” Theon had replied.

“What is there to understand? You are Greyjoy, Robb was a Stark.  Your loyalties should have been obvious to the King in the North.  You did nothing wrong. He would have done the same thing had he been in your place.”

“You do not know the Starks.”

“Are we going to discuss the virtues of the honorable Lord Stark?  Know this Theon,  Eddard Stark and Robb Stark are dead and lone gone. What did their honor get them if not a sword to their neck?  But here you are, alive.  Alive and next to your blood sister.  Together we will regain what is ours by right.  Worry not about the Starks, of what they think of you. However many there remain, they will do just like us.  Whatever it takes to thrive and survive.”

“You do not understand,” he had repeated.  His sister was a Greyjoy through and through, she will never understand.

“I do,” she said in a quiet voice.  “I know that you love them, even the bastard.  But they do not feel the same way about you. They never did, even before you turned against the Young Wolf. You were their prisoner to behead if father misbehaved. You are the only one who bought into the idea that somehow those years turned you into a Stark.”

“You not need be cruel, sister.”

“I am not cruel, brother.”  Asha grabbed him roughly by the collar, forcing him to look her directly in the eye “I’m Ironborn, we do not sow.”  She lose her grip on his collar and soften her tone “I love you brother but I do not have the time or the energy to heal your broken soul.  We are at war and I need you strong.”  In an instant her voice turned menacing again “go out there and get some fresh air. If you run into this King in the North, looked him in the eye and know you did nothing wrong.”  With that she left.

His sister was wrong in so many ways but Theon decided to heed her word in just one thing.  He really did need fresh air.

The sun was still hiding behind a mountain.  The waves crushing again stone was the only sound penetrating the silence. Some Dothrakis stood guard but at this time of day, even they were subdued.  They took one look at him and immediately withdrew their gaze, he knew that even the foreign savages saw him in true light. A shadow of someone who once used to be a man. He kept his head down and continued down the long staircase of the magnificent structure.  He felt the waves calling him so that is where he needed to be.

By the time he reached the beach, the dark had become more grayish, a sign of the turning of the day.  He would not stay long, he would not risk it but for now he sat on the beach and enjoyed that salty smell that only the sea can bring about.  He was so lost in the moment that he did not see or hear him approach.  His voice broke the silence and also whatever little peace he had attained.

“Get up, Greyjoy.  Get up you fucking traitor.”  He hadn’t heard Jon’s voice in a long time but he knew it immediately.  The bastard had acquired a commanding tone, but his accustomed icy tone was more pronounced than ever.  Theon took a few seconds to gather his thoughts and he stumbled to his feet, he was ready to die.  

He heard Jon’s ragged breathing, it reminded him of Ramsey’s dogs when they were ready to attack.  He turned to face him but for some reason he closed his eyes in doing so.  The thought of an instant blow, crossed his mind.  He was coward, so he closed his eyes and waited to die.  Suddenly he felt Jon’s hand grabbed his jerkin, Asha had been more gentle.

“Open your eyes and look at me bastard.  Look me in the eye and tell me why you betrayed Robb who was always so good to you?  I want to hear directly from you before I crack open your skull.  Tell me how you took advantage of two young boys to steal their legacy.  Tell me how you put to the sword every member of that castle who saw you grow up, who served you.  Tell me!”   

With his eyes closed, he heard Eddard Stark and the thought of facing the man he had often considered a father terrified him even more.  But he had no choice.  His sister’s voice rang in his ears briefly, _you did nothing wrong_ , but when he finally opened his eyes and saw Jon Snow before him, his voice only carried the certitude of knowing he had done everything wrong and there was nothing he could say or do to fix it. 

“I loved Robb,” Theon whispered.  That only served to enraged Snow even more.  His gloved hand wrapped around Theon’s neck and squeezed.  Theon put no resistance but he looked Jon straight in the eye in the hopes that he would understand he was not lying.

“I loved him,” he struggled to get out. “There is been no single day that has gone by when I have not felt guilty for betraying our brother.”

“Our brother?” Jon spat, his rage was so that he was not willing to spare Theon from his demons.  He loosen the grip of his neck and push him to the floor in disgust. He would not kill him.  “My brother.  He was my brother and you helped to kill him.  Don’t you ever again call him your brother.”

“He was the only brother I ever truly knew.  I should have died with him, I should have been at The Twins and died with him.”  Theon uttered in desperation.

_I should have been at the Twins and died with him_ , Jon whispered back almost to himself.  If he meant for Theon to hear him, he did not know. 

“Instead,” Jon’s voice recovered its venom, “you took Winterfell from two young boys and burnt the place to the ground.  What happened to Rodrik Cassel, did you use his teaching to turn on him? Did you kill Maester Luwin and Old Nan?”

With every name coming from Jon’s mouth, Theon sunk lower to the ground. He hoped dearly the sand would just swallow him.

“I did, even if I didn’t put a sword to each and everyone. I brought their death regardless and I also brought my own death.”

Jon Snow looked down on him and this time Theon was able to hold his gaze.  “I won’t kill you,” spat Jon.  “I promised Sansa I would not.”

“Don’t you see?” Theon asked him. “I’m already dead. Theon Greyjoy has been dead for a while.”

Jon looked at him again with those grey Stark eyes.  He saw Ned in him and suddenly he was afraid for him.  Jon said nothing, perhaps seeing for the first time that the creature at his feet was truly not a man, only an illusion of someone he once knew.  He turned from him and walked away.

“Jon,” Theon said loud enough to make Jon stop on his tracks.  He didn’t turn back.  “The North.  You must remember the North. Do not get pull into the Southern games.  Get back to your pack and defend what is yours.” 

Theon watched Jon climbed the steps and disappeared from view.  He saw him one more time at Dragonstone, the day the dragons danced before him.

 


	32. DAENERYS

**DAENERYS**

Jon Snow was leaving for Winterfell at the break of dawn. She could not sleep.  Tyrion had said that he would make a great ally.  The idea of marriage was floated about as they waited for his arrival.  But she had known that he would not bend the knee right upon meeting him for the first time, all she had to do was to look into his eyes.  Later when he voiced her suspicions out loud she was not surprised. 

What irked Daenerys the most about the situation was that she knew he was no enemy of hers, at least not by his own volition.  He was not a slaver she could easily dismissed, he was not a Khal who wanted to dominate her, he was not Hizdahr who despised her yet would marry her for her crown.  He was not even Daario.  There was no hate for her in his eyes, no fear, no respect, no admiration, no desire.  She often felt unseen by his eyes.  Dany may have been abused, degraded, celebrated, venerated but she never once felt unseen until Jon Snow walked into her life.  The feeling was throughly new and difficult to get used to.

In her rare moments of solitude, Dany would sometimes reflect on the journey her life had taken since her brother sold her to Khal Drogo in exchange for an army.  She was just a young girl then, innocent still despite their life as exiles.  She had learned to love Drogo and make the best of her situation but that did not reverse the nights of rape and humiliation she had endured at his hands. Would that young girl had chosen to marry Drogo willingly if she had been allowed control of her life?  No.  The woman that she now was knew this without doubt. Back then, she had not considered the situation.  She was a Targaryen, if her brother was meant to be King, she would naturally be his Queen. Young Daenerys did not dream of an ideal lover because life had already chosen for her.  She loved Viserys and in time she would’ve grown in love with him.   But her brother had loved himself more and had been willing to sacrifice her in order to advance his ambitions. 

Looking back she had never been in love with someone.  She had loved Drogo, deeply, she had even admired his fortitude but her husband was not the type of man young noble girls fall in love with.  She had lusted over Daario, she had enjoyed him in bed and had learned to appreciate his assuredness.  But her lover was not the type of man young queens should fall in love with.  And now, as queen, Daenerys became keenly aware that whatever political marriage she would walked into could be nothing if not loveless.  She would not want a loveless marriage with Jon Snow and he would not love her if she forced him to give up his Northern crown in exchange for . . . what?  Ruling of a region he hardly care for? Power he had no interest in obtaining? A queen he did not love?  In truth, Daenerys was terrified to even consider what his answer would be to a such a proposal.  He had already refused her enough.  After their first meeting, Tyrion had asked her if she wanted him to propose a betrothal, she forbade it.  _I think I can do better than a bastard_ , she had told him.  Her Hand had dropped the subject then without issue, though Dany suspected he saw right through her.  

The remaining interactions with the bastard king had been equally tense.  She had come to accept that an alliance may never take place and did not want to think about what that meant for future interactions.  It occurred to her that perhaps a little show of force would changed his mind.  Drogon’s moodiness would come in handy, or at least she thought.  She had already sensed his agitation the days prior, it had begun with the arrival of the King in the North. Dany had thought that he simply grew bore of the stay in Dragonstone. In fact, she had noticed Rhaegal and Viserion acting particularly anxious as well. Her children were free to come and go but none had been absent for long.  Maybe they sensed her apprehension at the arrival of the bastard king, maybe they sensed danger and wanted to remain nearby in case she needed them.  Maybe she was reading too much into it and they were simply being dragons. Whatever the reason, Daenerys decided the unbending northerner needed to witness what his people could go against if they refused to accept her as the one true ruler of Westeros.

That particular afternoon, Drogon’s impatience reached its peak.  When Daenerys invited Snow to meet her favorite child, she expected many things, none involved the bastard being brave or stupid enough to make contact.  And Drogon, who had allowed no one to touch him except her, had just stood there, his large eyes set on this pretender as his hand had reached for his snout.  Her child had even moved into the touch after a short while, his heart beating fast.  Yes, she had felt his heart beating maniacally fast.  She had seen how the wolf and the dragon had forgotten the world around them and she had felt vulnerable.

Perhaps Snow had noticed her disquietude because he had avoided the dragons ever since.  In truth, everyone in the room may have noticed though only Missandei had been brave enough to approach her about it.

“Dragons are curious, your Grace,” she had told her to assuage her apprehension. “Drogon would not have hurt him unless you had requested that of him so he allowed the stranger to touch him because his mother was standing nearby.  Not long ago, Lord Tyrion managed to survive contact with both Rhaegal and Viserion.”

“When was the last time you touched Drogon, Missandei?”

“It’s been a while your Grace, but dragons are moody. At least that is what Lord Tyrion once told me. He's read many books about them. They are like cats, he said, they set the conditions for interaction.”

 Dany smiled at that.  Missandei and Tyrion were probably right.  Dragons were moody, they would do as they please.  Drogon let a stranger near only because she had allowed it.  Still after that night, she decided that it was truly best to let Jon Snow return home to his family, to his war.  She would not allow him to become a distraction.  She didn’t need him as an ally, she would simply chose not to have him as an enemy, not until necessary.  The North was the least of her problems.

And so that sleepless night turned into a long one, full of anxious thoughts and untimely longing.  A weak ray of light had pierced her room and she readied herself for a quick farewell.  Her original plan had been not to even bothered with a personal goodbye, she had been courteous to both Ser Davos and the King the night prior, that would have sufficed.  But she wanted to see him one more time, she wanted to watch as his boat disappeared from view, from her life.  She would take that as closure.

A mid size vessel, flying the direwolf banner of House Stark, swayed at a distance.  A small boat waited for passengers, Stark soldiers stood nearby.  Ser Davos and Missandei chatted amicably, they both stopped and turned at her approach. Davos bowed his head. Dany gave him a smile.

“Where is your King, my lord?”

“With your Hand, your Grace. They said they would not be long.” 

Missandei then signaled behind and Dany turned to see Jon Snow and Tyrion approaching, deep in conversation.  She locked eyes with the bastard king who bowed his head and gave her a faint smile of acknowledgment. 

“Your Grace,” he said, “I want to thank you again for your hospitality and for being willing to listen to me.  I understand that your priorities are elsewhere at the moment but I still have not lost hope that you may reconsider and come join me to fight the one true war.”

“I am glad to have met you Jon Snow.  And I too still hope that you may yet reconsider and recognize me as your queen.  May the North join me in destroying the reign of Cersei Lannister. The sooner we unite under one true ruler, the sooner we can all fight this Night King of yours.”

Jon only smiled at that.  What was the point of going around the issue one more time? Nothing will come of it. At least not now.  He had said his peace.

“We’ll take our leave now. Lord Tyrion, it was good to meet you again.”

“Same, Jon Snow.  I wish you good fortune and stay alive.  Please do give my best to the Lady Sansa.”

“My lady,” Jon said bowing to Missandei, “my Lord,” he said towards Varys.

They’ve both bowed back.  And finally his eyes fell on her.

“Good luck, your Grace,” he said.

There were so many things in those final words, Dany felt.  His eyes did the talking for him. He was somehow disappointed in her and he couldn’t hide it.  Maybe he did not want to hide it, maybe he wanted Dany to know.  Jon Snow she found was an honest man, and honest men cannot tell lies even when they want to.  Dany did not say anything back but oh how she wanted to.  There was more to the two of them she knew.  Their story was not to end with this goodbye, she felt it deep down inside.  She looked into those eyes and she knew he was meant to be in her life, despite what he may think of her.  She wanted to explain that he was not dealing with a spoiled and entitled child, she came here to conquer, to change things for the better and she could not allow distractions to get in her way.  She wanted him to know that she had suffered much to get to this point in her life and that she couldn’t look back else she was lost.  Her way forward was the Iron Throne, else Viserys, Drogo and Rhaego had died for nothing.  She needed to make their deaths count.  And so she held his gaze but no words came out.  Silence sometimes can say so much, though the message may often get misinterpret.

“Your Grace,” Ser Davos’ voice cut through the silence sharply, “shall we go?”

The King in the North had dropped his gaze then and turn his eyes to his counsel. He nodded.  He stood there silently and his eyes travel to each person again with a final silent goodbye before he turned and started to walk away.  Dany watched him go, her heart feeling a bit constricted with every step.  Suddenly the wind picked up significantly and screeches flooded the space, Dany looked up to see her children flying in circles above . . . above the bastard king who was now also starring at all three dragons. 

The dragons descended together, the motion of their wings causing gusts that send everyone else to the ground for cover, even their mother.  When she looked up, they had circled Jon Snow.  The bastard king stood in the middle, his eyes moving from one dragon to another in amazement.  He did not cower as the beasts moved slowly towards him, Viserion was the first to make contact.  It lasted no more than a couple of seconds, his nostrils flared as Jon’s hand touch his snout and then he was done, backtracking and taking flight. Rhaegal approached more tentatively, at one point looking back at Drogon.  Jon and Rhaegal looked at each other for a while as if silently communicating.  The King in the North, it seemed to Dany, had forgotten the rest of them. _And your children have forgotten about you_ , the thought came unbidden but she quickly pushed it away.

Neither king or beast moved toward each other but Rhaegal did in the end lower his head and waited but Jon stood rooted and would not move.   Drogon having lost patience screeched and with that Rhaegal took after Viserion. The black dragon and Jon stood face to face briefly.

“Goodbye, Drogon,” she heard the bastard king say which Drogon answered with another screech before he took flight.  All her children then, Dany saw, were still circling Snow mid air for a few more seconds before each flew their own way.  Snow watched them for a few minutes and then turned to Daenerys one last time to nod.  He said nothing else and Dany let the moment be.  Soon his boat had disappeared from view and all she was left with was an immense feeling of uncertainty and longing.

 


	33. SANSA

**SANSA**

She had hardly recognized her little brother, nothing was left of the young boisterous child who would climb any surface that offered him a challenge.  The last time she had seen him he had looked like an angel, lost in a never ending dream that almost no one thought he would wake up from. _We should have never left him_ , Sansa thought. _Why did father leave? Why did mother leave? He was just a child, Rickon as well and we abandoned them to their own luck._   She had watched over his brother as he slept his first night back and she had quietly wept in a way she had not wept in a while.  They  had failed Bran and Rickon the most because they were the ones that left them behind. 

The Bran that crossed the gates of Winterfell two weeks past was not her little brother, not really.  Where her little brother had been a happy child, amenable to a fault, the young man who came back was cold and distant even when it was clear he did not mean to be.  He had smiled sadly at her and wasted little time to ask for Jon.  Sansa had been hurt by that, she knew that Bran had had a particular affinity for their half brother and that perhaps Jon had been a better sibling to him than she ever had.  After all it was Jon who had trained with him countless afternoons in the courtyard.  It was Jon who had convinced father to give his children their pet direwolves.  Yes, Jon had been a better brother but Sansa had loved him as well.  And Jon was not home but she was.  His young companion, Lady Meera had noticed Sansa’s hurt and tried to explain.

“Lady Stark,” she said, “your brother and I come from beyond the wall.  We have crucial information for the King concerning the creatures that mean to destroy us all. Bran has been overwhelmed by this information he has been carrying for a while, it would be a great relief for him to speak to his Grace. He knows the King is aware of the threat.”

Sansa had nodded. “Thank you, Lady Reed.  The King is indeed aware of the dead army and the creatures that control them.  He has been ardently working to secure armies and weapons to face the enemy.  It is in this quest that his Grace has left Winterfell—“

“Send a raven to Dragonstone, sister,” Bran had interrupted. “Daenerys will not heed his call, not yet. Tell him that I need to talk to him, tell him that Arya is coming home.

“Arya? How do you—”

“She comes to serve her King.”  He said this while looking at her poignantly, almost accusingly she felt.  Then he turned his eyes to Meera and said “I’m tired.”  And with that he said no other word.  He was moved to his old chambers and Meera had been given the chamber next door, the one that had belonged to Rickon. Sansa did not have the heart to ask about Summer or Hodor and her little brother had not asked about Rickon.  They had left Winterfell together, how was it that they ended so far apart.  She ruminated about a million questions while she watched him sleep.  Soon sleep took her too.

The sun had yet to risen when she opened her eyes, she got up quietly from the chair to stretch her tired limbs and then her eyes moved to her brother.  He was no longer sleep but he was neither awake.  His eyes had gone back into his skull and she could only see white.  She was petrified, was her brother dying? She wanted to scream for maester Wolkan but she was rooted in horror.  

“Bran,” she whispered. “Bran, wake up. Tell me you are fine.”

Nothing.  Finally she took control of her limbs and moved closer to the bed, she bent over to reach for his shoulder.

“Bran,” she said more forcefully.  She moved to shake his shoulder and suddenly his eyes centered and he looked at her without much emotion.

“Arya is at the gate.”

“How—”

“I can see everything.  Everything that came before me, everything that will come and everything that is happening at this very moment,” said Bran in that monotone voice that gave her the impression that he was absent in his own body.  And then for just a second, Sansa thought, his eyes reverted to the eyes of her little brother, her mother’s favorite, his voice then sounded wounded, vulnerable.  “I can see everything and the information is at times more crippling than my broken legs.”  His eyes reached out for just a second and Sansa wanted to help him but she was so confused, she did not know what to say or how to respond.  She kept quiet a second too long.

“Lady Sansa.” It was Brienne’s voice coming through the tick wooden door. A rapt at the door followed for good measure.  Sansa kept her eyes on her brother a while longer and she noticed that her little brother had gone again, replaced by whom Lady Meera had once referred to as the Three-Eye Raven.  She moved towards the door and opened it.

“Lady Brienne,” she said, opening the door fully.  “What is it?”

“Your lady sister is at the gates.”  Brienne said with a wide smile on her face.

Sansa turned to see Bran.  He did not react.

“Are you sure it’s her?” Sansa asked without looking at Brienne.

“I am.  I met your sister once as you know, the girl at the gates is the same one.  I heard her ask for her brother Jon.”

Sansa smiled.  “It is Arya then,” she said.  “Of course the first person she would ask for is Jon.”

Suddenly Lady Meera was at the door, a concerned look.

“Pardon, Lady Stark,” she said.  “Is everything alright?” She peaked into the room, her eyes searching for Bran.  She relaxed upon seeing him.

“It is my lady,” Sansa said kindly. “It appears my brother was right, our sister is at the gates.”

Meera nodded.

“Would you please—”

“I’ll stay with Bran,” Meera cut her off. “Go meet your lady sister.”

Sansa acknowledged her with a nod and turned.  Once she had crossed the door archway, she heard her brother’s voice.

“The Arya you knew is also gone but so am I and so are you. Keep that in mind.”

Sansa did not turn, those words had been cutting. She felt Bran was trying to destroy her happiness before she even tried to reach for it.  She would not allow it.  Her sister was back, another wolf, another Stark.  _The lone wolf dies while the pack survives,_ she thought. She left with Brienne right behind her.  

She did not have to walk long.  Her sister was already up on the first step with the frantic guards running behind her.  They all halted midway.

“Arya,” Sansa said, tears filling up her eyes.

Arya had looked her up and down once and a smile broke her facade.

“Sansa,” she whispered back.  They both took a step towards each other and fell into an embrace.  A short one, Sansa thought, but heartfelt.  _Jon, where are you?_ , she thought.  _Come home_.


	34. ARYA

** ARYA **

“Where is Jon?” were Arya’s first words to her sister Sansa after breaking the embrace.  This auburn haired lady who now stood tall, looking like their lady mother just stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, shook her head and let out a small chuckle.

“Our brave king, my lady sister, is not home.  But a raven was sent yesterday evening letting him know of your return.  I am sure he will find a way to fly if he has to, to get back here for you.”

“Yesterday? How did you know?” asked Arya incredulous. 

“The Three Eye Raven told me,” Sansa said almost playfully until she saw Arya’s concerned face.

“Arya,” she whispered as she got closer.  “Bran is also home.”  Tears were pooling in Arya’s eyes. Jon was not there but Bran was and Sansa and . . .

“Where is he? And Rickon?”

Her sister’s eyes assessed their surroundings.  Arya chastised herself, she had been too distracted, she had not noticed that everyone in the courtyard was witnessing their interaction. So overwhelmed by emotions was she, she had even failed to spot the presence of Brienne of Tarth who stood as a large shadow behind her sister.

“Come,” Sansa had beckoned her as she started to climb the steps.  Brienne gave them both space but she continued to watch over them but this was the least of concerns for Arya who with every step taken realized that she did not want to know the answer to her last question.  _So there are only four of us left_ , she thought but said nothing and followed her sister into a large chamber.

“Lady Brienne,” her sister called out.  The large woman stood before the door.  “Would you please make sure we are afforded the outmost privacy?”

“As you wish, my lady,” Brienne replied with a nod and she closed the door.  Arya knew Brienne was standing right outside and she begrudgingly admired the lady like manner with which her sister had dismissed her company.  _Some things never changed_ , she thought.

Arya and Sansa stood there in silence assessing one another, hesitant.

“Rickon,” Arya heard her whispered and she need not say more.

“When? Who?” Arya asked.

“Not long ago.  Jon tried to save him, he risked his life to save him.”  Arya just nodded, when she closed her eyes, the only image she could conjured of Rickon was that of a child laughing uncontrollably as his direwolf, _Shaggy was it?_ , teared through everything his teeth could find.

“Who?” she repeated with venom.

“Ramsey Bolton.  He’s dead now.  He got the death he deserved, I made sure of that.”

“Good,” Arya said.  “Bran?”

“He calls himself the Three-Eye Raven now. There is little of the brother we both knew, he—”

“What does it mean? The Three-Eye Raven?  Did Bran go crazy?”

Sansa shook her head. “He appears to be sound of mind.  He says he sees everything, things past, things present, things to come.  He says he can enter animals and control them.”

“A warg?” Arya asked.

“A what?”

“A warg.  Like the one in Old Nan’s stories.  Don't you remember?”  

Sansa shook her head again.

“Old Nan used to say that beyond the wall, there were some wildlings who could skin change and become any animal they bonded with.  Bran could become a . . . raven—”

“I suppose. I have seen his eyes turned white, I have seen him leave his body.  He told me you were on your way back, then he told me when you were at the gates.”

“What else has he told you?”

“He confirmed what Jon has been saying.  White Walkers are coming, with an army of the dead.”

“What?”

“Jon fought them beyond the Wall.  Tens of thousands he says, with ice demons who can control the dead.  Jon calls it the real war.  That’s why he’s gone, he thinks the Targaryen woman can help us.”

“Why her?”

“She has thousands of soldiers and dragons . . .”

“To burn the dead,” Arya finished, Sansa nodded.  Arya considered things for a while, a million thoughts crossing her mind.  She had returned home but nothing she had seen had strike her as home, even Sansa seemed different, there was an icy demeanor to her.  _A little bit of mother_ , she thought.  For a moment, she was afraid to see what Bran had become.  However, she had chosen to return so now she needed to see things through.  Besides there was still Jon and she knew deep down that Jon was still Jon, even Sansa had not said otherwise.

“Arya,” she heard her voice as a distant sound.  

Arya found her sister’s eyes and said, “take me to Bran please.”

Sansa gave her a nod, she turned towards the door and opened it. She did not turn back but said instead “do not ask him about Hodor . . . or Summer.”

“Are they dead?”

“He has not said it but I heard him say their names while in his sleep.  They are not happy memories.”

“I doubt any of us have happy memories sister. I know mine have faded, sometimes beyond recognition.”

She saw her sister turned and acknowledged her with a sad smile, she then walked out of the door and she followed her.  They found Lady Brienne waiting outside the chambers. Sansa said nothing and continued through the hallway.  _That’s right_ , Arya thought, _Bran’s room and Rickon's, the closest to the Lord Chamber’s_.  Rickon and Bran had been babies after all.

Sansa knocked on the door and soon the door opened, revealing a young woman Arya did not know.

“Lady Reed,” Sansa said, “we are here to see our brother.”

The girl nodded and stepped aside to let them enter.  

And there he was her younger brother, no longer a child.  Her brother, no longer the amenable boy who loved to climb and would get crossed whenever Arya would beat him at something. Unbidden came the image of her little brother chasing her after she had bested him at target practice.  She remembered the laughter all around, Rickon’s, Robb’s and Jon’s.  Jon never laughed much but Arya could close her eyes and remember the sound.  But Bran could no longer chase her.  He sat there looking vulnerable yet intimidating.   Arya’s first instinct was to run to him but something kept her back. Fear.

“Arya,” Bran said.  “I am glad you are home. I thought your list would keep you away.”

“A list,” Sansa asked. “What list?”

Arya remained silent, she took time to look into Bran’s eyes and she understood.  She understood that the Bran she knew was gone.  And she knew that he knew that the Arya that they all knew was also gone.  But they were Starks the three of them and that was enough for now.  They needed each other and they needed Jon because the lone wolf dies and the pack survives.  

“My list,” she heard herself say, “is not my family.”

“Will you give it up then?”

“No.  I will not but-” she hesitated.

“You heard about Jon,” Sansa said, not a question but as a statement.  Arya only nodded.

“Jon will be here soon, he is on his way.” Bran said.

“Did a raven—”  Sansa started asking before stopping herself.

“Why is he king?” asked Arya.  “You are the rightful heir Bran are you not?

“Bran was not here when the banner men named Jon our king,”  Sansa said.  

“But you were?” Arya asked and she noticed a hint of annoyance that her sister could not hide.  Sansa always wanted to be queen, maybe she still did.

“It matters not,” Bran said matter of factly. “Robb had intended to name him his heir.  Jon was always meant to be king.”  As he said this, Arya noticed the young woman, Lady Reed, shift her weight nervously.  She looked at her brother and waited to see if he would expand, instead she heard her sister’s voice.

“Robb passed us over?” she said unable to hide her sadness. 

“He had his reasons but those don’t matter anymore.  He was killed and his will lays dormant somewhere.  Yet Jon was still named king.  There are things people cannot run from.”

“The dead?” Arya asked remembering the earlier conversation with Sansa.

“They are marching, the Long Night approaches and we cannot run from them.”

“The Wall?”

“Monsters cannot always be kept at bay.”

There was a long silence between them at Bran’s last words, until her sister, the Lady of Winterfell broke it.

“No, monsters cannot always be kept at bay. But we have yet to succumb to any of the ones we have faced. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Sansa defiantly.

“And now there are four of us,” Arya added with a smile.

“The wolves have come again.” They all turned their eyes at Lady Reed who had spoken for the first time.


	35. CERSEI

** CERSEI **

The dragon bitch had not made her move yet.  By now, she would have learnt of the fate of High Garden and of its Queen.  She would know that Cersei Lannister had bested her by taking all the riches The Reach had to offer.  By now she would know that the old hag wasted away in a dungeon in Kings Landing. And yet she did nothing.  
 ****

Her brother, her lover, had grown restless. He reminded her of a caged beast pacing relentlessly, unsure of what was to come.  Not Cersei though, strangely enough the waiting soothed her.  She had always been the impulsive one, the one that needed to be talked down from action. She would often marvel at her father’s cool demeanor in the face of insolence and defiance.  Where Cersei was quick to exact vengeance even for the smallest of offenses, Tywin Lannister would delight in setting expert traps for his victims, he would toy with them elegantly and eventually destroy them, leaving nothing but dust behind.  A younger Cersei would have no patience for that but Queen Cersei had learned the hard way.  She had been quick to embrace the presence of the Sparrows thinking she could use them as weapons against her enemies instead the move resulted in the death of her youngest son.  She would never admit that to anyone yet she knew it to be true.  

There were no children to protect now, it was just her and her twin as it had been for most of their life.  Cersei wore a crown on her head and she sat the Iron Throne while surrounded by high walls and protected by a large army.  The power was hers, she would not be drawn out.  Robert Baratheon had not won the throne upon sinking his hammer through Prince Rhaegar’s armor, he won the crown only after Eddard Stark marched through the Red Keep and claimed the throne in his name. Daenerys Targaryen could march and conquer the Stormlands, the Crownlands, the Riverlands, even the frigid North but that would not give her the crown she wanted. She needed to take Kings Landing, she needed the Red Keep and Cersei was not willing to give that to her.

“Why is she so still?” Jamie had asked no one in particular.  She knew he had pondered every possible answer but clearly he did not understand.  Cersei wondered what would have become of her twin had he not been Tywin’s heir and a warrior besides.  He clearly lacked the intellect that came to define their father.  The intellect that was clearly passed on to her and even to their monstrous little brother.  Because as much as she hated him, Cersei could not deny Tyrion’s sagacity and cunning.  He was after all still alive when stronger men had succumbed to less.

“She is, it seems, incapable of taking Kings Landing by violence. So much for ‘fire and blood’,” Cersei said as a way of explaining the Dragon Queen.

“It must be Tyrion’s doing,” Jamie said almost to himself.  The thought had not really occurred to Cersei but this she must give him, her twin was probably right.  Tyrion was cunning but he lacked their father’s ruthlessness.  Even in that, Cersei thought, she was the only true child of the late Lord of Casterly Rock.

“Who would’ve thought that our little brother may be useful still.  I may even be glad he still has his head on his shoulders.  The day will come when that is no longer the case but until then, he may yet be of service to the Lannister cause.”

“The stillness though, the stillness in battle is never a good thing.  It makes people hopeful, it makes people complacent, it draws you into a false sense of safety—”

“Or, ” Cersei cut him off dismissively, “it makes them behave like caged animals, nervously conjuring the worst possible scenario in their heads.” 

“You’ve never been to battle.” 

“I have fought battles every day of my life and I have learned to be patient.  Father won battles with ink and paper, we can do the same thing.”

“Who do else do you expect to side with us? Edmure Tully has regained control of the Riverlands and all his vessels, whatever is left of the Freys is in disarray, they will not lift a finger for us.  Dorne has already bent the knee to the Targaryen woman and the North . . . I’m sure the Starks would gladly slit our throats if given the opportunity.”

“The bastard version of the Starks has no army, not really—”

“They have the Vale,” interrupted Jamie.

“Petyr Baelish has the Vale.  Littlefinger has no alliance other than to himself.  If we can get him to turn the Vale forces against the Starks, then we get more than ten thousand men to fight for our side.”

“What could you offer that smarmy man that would entice him to fight for what probably looks like the loosing side? You said it yourself, his only allegiance is to himself.”

“I would offer him a crown and a Queen,” Cersei said as if it was the most obvious thing.  She was amused by the incredulity plastered in her twin’s face.

“You can’t be serious. You said you never wanted to be married off again—”

“I said I never wanted to be forced into a marriage of convenience arranged by someone other than myself.  Granted, Petyr is not the man I would have chosen.  He is low born and treacherous besides but he has what I currently need.  I also know that I can reach agreeable terms with him.”

“Agreeable terms,” Jamie asked in a mocking tone.

“I am sure that he won’t mind if I share my bed with you,” Cersei said tracing her index finger on her brother’s chest seductively, “and I will turn a blind eye to all the whores that he may sneak into the keep.  And one day when all the battles are over and my crown is secured, one of those whores will be the end of him.” 

“All thought out I see.  How long have you had this on mind?”

“Ever since I learned the bastard King had landed a boat in Dragonstone. He left the North open for the taking.”

“If the bastard has the ear of the Dragon Queen, do you not think he’ll seek retribution for any harm that comes to his siblings?”

“That is why I asked Petyr to make sure all those little Starks are kept alive.  Even the red-headed bitch.  They’ll make fine hostages and will stop the so-called King in the North in his tracks.”

“You asked Petyr? Are you telling me that you have already put all of this in motion? Without my input?”

“I am the Queen, Jamie.  I need input from no one.  Besides you were too preoccupied with what may never come to—

A knock interrupts Cersei.  Qyburn’s faint voice breaks through.

“Your Grace, I have news.”

“Come in,” Cersei replied, enjoying Jamie’s murderous stare.  She enjoyed having him off balance.

The door opened and her Hand stepped in.

“He’s arrived your Grace,” Qyburn bowed.

“Who’s arrived?” asked Jamie.

Qyburn looked at Cersei for approval before answering.  “Euron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands.”

“Greyjoy? Why is he here?”

“For the same reason Petyr will agree to my offer.  What man would refused to marry the Queen?”

Jamie said nothing and Cersei could see the disappointment in his eyes.  _No matter_ , she thought, _he’ll get over it_.  _The way he always does_.  She starts to head for the door, Qyburn behind her.

“Who will you marry in the end?” Jamie’s voice stopped her.

She did not turn. “Neither.  Both.  Whoever ensures I keep what is mine by right.”  With that, she walked away from her brother, the way she had been doing since they were kids.  Cersei was always the one to walk away, Jamie was the alway the one to follow.


	36. JON

** JON **

****

Jon had waited until Dragonstone faded from view.

“I believe you,” Lord Tyrion had told him that morning in private.  “You are your father’s son and you cannot tell a lie, though I think it would do you a great deal of good to learn how to.”

“I don’t have much use for lies, they are a waste of time.”

“You are impatient Jon,” he said with a smile. “That is not a good quality for a King.”

“I was not born a king, my lord.  I am sure no one expected a crown would ever be placed on my head.  Patience may not be the only kingly quality that escapes me.  Still I must do for now.”

“For the North,” Tyrion emphasized.

“Aye, for my people, the ones that pledged me their swords and trust.”

Tyrion stayed quiet for a while, Jon could see the wheels turning in his head.  He knew that Tyrion was measuring his words, an odd thing to do between them. “Do you mean to fight Daenerys if she ever comes after you?” he finally asked.

“I trust that won’t happen,” Jon answered.  “In any case, we can only fight one war at the time and the Night’s King takes precedence over your queen.  I only wish you and the rest of the south would believe me because sooner or later this will also become your war.” 

“I do believe you,” Tyrion reminded him and Jon smiled at that.  He found it infinitely sad that people who claimed to believe him really did not.  Else they would not hesitate to heed his warning. _They have not seen what you have seen_ , he reminded himself.  Still, this trip had only served to emphasized how isolated the North really was. His last conversation with Daenerys had left him drained, if he could not make a dragon rider believe in monsters, he could only guess the response he would get from the other lords and ladies of Westeros.

“Now,” Tyrion continued, “I cannot leave with you and join your army, and frankly that may be a blessing to you.  Imagine an imp taking arms against the army of the dead.”

Tyrion let his last words linger as if waiting for him to laugh at his cleverness, Jon though was in no mood for his clever word games.  He increasingly felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.  It was one thing to fight for the North, for his people, but now the survival of his family was also at stake and that was sacred.  Not long ago, he had considered taking Sansa away from it all but she had refused.  But now that Bran and Arya had returned, why they could always take a boat leading them away, to warmer weather, away from monsters and dragons.  Away from the ghosts that will never stop haunting them.  Yes, in his moments of complete desperation he had allowed himself to fantasize about the survival of his family, even if by cowardly means.

“Hmm,” Tyrion broke his reverie.  “Not in the mood for jest I see.  Not that you ever are—”

“Perhaps one day my lord, when I have reasons.” 

“Something tells me, your Grace, that you are simply not the kind.  But let me get to the point.  I cannot fight for you and I am not going to convince Daenerys to change course and go north, not until my sister is defeated.  But I do not mean to abandon the North all together.  You’ll find our contribution to your cause in the main hold of your vessel. It is all that we could gather given the time constraints—”

“Dragonglass?” Jon asked though he knew the answer already.  “Did your queen changed her mind?”

“My queen will learn about our contribution at some point but I ask for your discretion.” Tyrion said looking at Jon expectantly.

Tyrion he knew, Daenerys was still a stranger to him.  They desperately needed the dragon glass. He nodded in agreement.  

So Jon had waited until Dragonstone had faded from view before he descended several decks to the main hold, Davos by his side.

“What exactly are you looking for your Grace?” asked Davos, holding a torch to light their way.

“Dragonstone’s contribution to our cause.”

Davos looked at him inquiringly but Jon had spotted the trunks that had been stacked against a dark corner.  He walked past Davos.  There were no more than eight, a part of him had expected more.  Still, it was more than he was able to achieved on his own. He opened the trunk closest to him, he could see very little but his hand wandered and found rugged edges and smooth surfaces cold to the touch.  He looked at Davos and he immediately understood, holding the torch above the trunk.

“Is that—” Davos started asking.

“Yes, obsidian.  Maybe not enough but better than nothing.”

“I thought she had denied the request?”

“Lord Tyrion will work things out.”

Davos had not said anything to that.  Jon appreciated the prudence of his closest advisor, he was the kind of man that would offer his opinion reluctantly but when he did, he was not constrained by rank. He was frank and reasonable, a man he could trust. He was on this train of thought as he opened a second trunk and found the same, satisfied he closed it and turned towards the stairs.

“To Eastwatch then?” Davos asked following him.

“We need to stop by White Harbor first.”

“Do you think Lord Manderly has returned from the Riverlands?”

Jon breathed in as he felt a gust of salty wind hit his face, they had reached the upper deck.

“I have not had word.  For all I know he’s back in Winterfell.  Regardless, we need blacksmiths and we are more likely to find them in the ports of White Harbor.  But we should send notice, I do not wish to stay longer than a day.”

“A raven then?”

“Two. One for the Manderlys and another for home.”

 

                                                                                                                 ——————-

 

They managed to reach White Harbor in three days time.  Jon was glad for the break from the vessel.  He was not made to be constrained in castles or vessels, especially when he felt there was much that needed to be done.  He helped the crew as much as they would let him but having the title of King often meant that people behaved differently around him.  He was not one of them, even when he tried to be.  He would often remember how he had driven his friends away from Castle Black so that friendly bonds would not interfere with his command.  That had been a  major mistake, in driving his friends away he left himself open to the treachery of others.  Some nights, Jon still felt the plunging of the knives.  The other nights were occupied with thoughts of Winterfell, of his brother and his sisters, of home.  But every night ended with the same recurring dream, the cold, the dark, the crypts, the dead, the ethereal lady whose face he could not make out looking down at him with such love and sadness.  Then a voice, Ned’s voice, pulling him back.  _I promised her_ , he would say.  And before he could say more, the vision was consumed by fire and when the ashes were blown away all that was left was ice.  He always woke up then, afraid to look at his reflection on the icy walls that surrounded him.

Last night, somehow, the dream had felt more real.  Last night he was sure he saw her eyes, eyes that were so much like his.  And the love he felt for her at that moment had so jolted him that he could not sleep the rest of the night.  As exhausted as he was this morning, he was glad to walk in Northern lands once more.  White Harbor had fascinated him as a child, so unlike Winterfell it was.  His lord father had once brought Robb and him along for a visit to Wymann Manderly and Jon had sat at the harbor dreaming of the adventures that awaited him once he was a grown man.  He had envisioned himself a knight that day and today he walked the same docks as King.  

No one at White Harbor knew what the King in the North looked like so Jon and Davos were able to move freely. It also helped that the streets were now covered in snow, a sight few of the locals had probably seen before.

“I would think Lord Manderly would send a welcoming party to greet his King,” Davos said in a low voice.

“Lord Manderly may not be home, in any case I had asked for discretion in my note to him. Our time here is short, let us head to New Castle fir—”

“Your Grace,” a strong voice came.  

Jon turned quickly to see a gauntly looking man, kneeling before him.  A girl of Arya’s age and a boy of Bran’s age, knelt with him.  A few steps back, several soldiers, a welcoming guard, followed lead.  

“There is no need for that,” Jon said uncomfortably.  “Please rise my lords, my lady.”  

“Father said you were humble.  We meant to be here sooner only—”

“It is quite alright, my lord.  Will you be Wylis, heir of House Manderly?”

“The same your Grace, at your service.  The lady here is my daughter Wylla and the lad is Larence Snow, the bast, the natural son of Lord Hornwood.”

“My lady, my lord.” Jon bowed his head.

“I come to offer you my services as your squire, your Grace,” the lad said with the type of boldness that only the very young can have.  Jon was about to replied when Wylla cut him off.

“I’ve come to do the same, my King.”  She said stepping forward.

“Your Grace, do forgive them.  They ask not be treated as children and yet that is how they behave. Had I known that this was their intention, I would not have allow them to come.”  Lord Wylis said with sharp tone directed at his kin.

“Nothing to forgive,” Jon said with a smile.  He turned towards the two young folk. “You both honor me.  I would be lucky to have either of you as squires but you do me a greater favor if you stay home, for the time being, and prepare to defend White Harbor and the North when the time comes.”

“I have been training my King.” Wylla answered with a self assurance that Jon found very familiar.  “Every day, with bow and arrows.  I’m afraid that I’m still not strong enough to carry a sword but I will.  Grandfather said all must train, he said you had decreed it.”

“Indeed my lady, I am glad to hear it.”

“It is so much better than sewing even if Wynafryd doesn’t think much of it—”

“Wylla.” Her father said to stop her.

Jon just looked at Wylla and wondered if Arya had given much use to Needle since they last saw each other.  He wished with all his heart that she hadn’t needed to but he would find out soon enough.

“Shall we go your Grace?” asked Lord Wylis.

“Yes, please.  We have very little time here, I must be off to Winterfell as soon as we can manage.”

“Where is your guard?”

“I have sent them to procure some supplies as I said our time here is short.”

“Your Grace, did you mean to walk around unprotected?  It is not safe.”

“It is quite alright.  Ser Davos here is acquainted with White Harbor and was leading me to New Castle. Besides, nobody knows who I am—” Jon started to explain but then he looked around, past the guard and noticed that many eyes were trained on him.

“They do now,” Davos added looking around as well. 

 

                                                                                                                     —————

Jon had hoped his short stay at White Harbor would be as inconspicuous as possible.  He had considered briefly addressing the town or at least all the lords but thought it best to leave all that to Lord Manderly who knew his people better than he did.  So when he wrote his note to the Lord of White Harbor, he had asked that his visit be kept quiet but the kneeling of Wylis and his retinue at the docks had squashed any hope of discretion.  

“We kept your arrival as quiet as possible.  But rumors fly faster than ravens,” Lord Wyman Manderly had explained when he finally saw him upon his arrival to New Castle.

“What rumors might these be,” Jon asked, though he could imagine.

“They speak of how the wolves have feasted upon the Freys in payment for the Red Wedding.  People say that the King Wolf shifts shapes to be everywhere.  In the Riverlands, posing as a girl to kill Freys.  In Dragonstone to wed the deposed Targaryen princess.”

“The Freys?”

“Walder Frey is dead as are many of his male kin.  Did you not know this?”

Jon shook his head.

“Edmure Tully has been freed.  Surviving Freys swear that the Starks took their vengeance.  They have heard about the battle against the Boltons; the small folk believe you killed the Freys in the same way you killed the Boltons.”

“I had nothing to do with the fate suffered by the Freys but I do not weep for them. They could die a hundred deaths and there would be still no justice for what they did to my brother and to all the northerners who were slaughtered under their roof.”

“The Gods curse them, the Old and the New,”  Wylla spat.

“Hear, hear,” was uttered by more than one person as the noise grew louder in the room.

 “I am also glad to hear Lord Tully has been restored.  Have you been to the Riverlands since?”

“I have, your Grace. I met with Edmure Tully and we spoke of the threat beyond the wall.  I cannot say whether he believed me or not but he assured me that the Riverlands will stand with the North when the time came.  He said he made the same assurances to your sister when he last saw her.”

“When did he meet with Sansa? My lady sister made no mention.”

“No.  He meant Lady Arya but would say no more about her.  I did receive a raven from Lady Stark though announcing the return of both Lord Stark and the Lady Arya,”  Lord Manderly said, his face breaking into a big smile.  “Try as they might, the Lions could not kill the wolves.”

“Winter is a time for wolves.” Jon’s eyes who had been focused on Wyman Manderly located the young lady who had softly spoken the words.  She was lovely and somewhat older than Wylla and while she lacked the obvious self-assurance of the younger girl, her words were uttered with conviction.

“Indeed,”  Lord Manderly said between cackles.  “Your Grace, you’ve met one of my treasures in Wylla—”

“I have my Lord,” Jon said.

“I am now proud to make you acquaintances with our lovely Wynafryd. My eldest granddaughter. The most beautiful girl in the North, at least in our eyes.”

Jon saw Wynafryd’s cheeks turn pink, he felt slightly sorry for her discomfort but it dawned on him that it had been a long time since he had seen such an unguarded reaction.  Wynafryd and Wylla, it seemed, had managed to maintain the innocence that was taken so violently from his own sisters. 

“My lady,” Jon bowed his head.

“Your Grace,” Wynafryd took a step towards him and made a move to kneel.  Jon acted quickly and gently stopped her from doing so.  If she was intimidated by the moment, she did not show it.  Her eyes kept Jon’s gaze.  It was his moment to become uncomfortable, he noticed for the first time that the room was eerily quiet and that all eyes were on them.  Old Manderly’s eyes were particularly alight with a spark of mischief.  Jon knew had an inkling of where this was going and he would not allow it.

“Lord Manderly,” Jon said awkwardly, looking around the room and taking step back from Wynafryd. “I am grateful for the warm welcome but I’m afraid that my stay here must be brief.  I have been away from Winterfell longer than I had hoped and I intent on sailing later tonight.”

“So soon? Why I thought we would have a feast in our King’s honor.  I had hoped to show you the armada we are building.  The defenses that are being put in place, the training that is now taking place upon your orders.”

“My lord, I had hoped the same but my brother and my sister have returned. I must see to them.  And I must see to the rest of the  North.  Our preparation must start in earnest.  The South has now been warned, we cannot force action upon them so we must move forward with whatever we got.”

“Did you find whatever you were looking for in Dragonstone, your Grace?” asked Manderly.

“I’ve brought back some help from Dragonstone my lord, but not enough to get me any sense of ease.”

“And the Dragon Queen?” 

“She is intent on fighting for the Iron Throne, she will be no help to us.  At least not until Cersei Lannister is defeated.  But she may yet change her mind.  Her dragons would be an immense help to us.”

“You’ve seen these beasts?” asked Wyllis.

“Aye, I have.”

“Is she—” Wynafryd hesitated.

“Mad?” Jon shook his head in response. “She is young and willful but I saw no madness in her. But she is a queen and she will do as she pleases.”

“Is she a threat to us?” asked Lord Manderly.

“She may well be but she would not turn against us until she secures Kingslanding.”

“Would we stand a chance if she were to turn those beasts against us?”

“No.  But trust what I have seen my lords and ladies.  Daenerys and her dragons should be the least of our worries. Let us not waste one minute worrying about a threat that can be reason with, let us prepare to battle against the threat that comes to take everything away from us.”

“When will you call the banner men?

“Upon my arrival.  I must speak with my family first.  My brother Bran has seen the enemy.  He—”

“He is the legitimate heir to Lord Eddard but he is only a boy and—”  Wyman said tentatively.

“But you said the Young Wolf named him his heir.” Wylla said to his father while pointing at Jon. “You said—”

“Wylla!” Wynafryd said sternly, labeling her with her eyes.  The willful Wylla looked ashamed and kept her head down. 

“I—” started Wyllis but Jon cut him off.  A part of him wanted to know what young Wylla had meant.  Had Robb really named his heir? After all, these men were around his brother in battle, they knew his mindset, they knew his plans.  But Jon understood what Manderly was getting at and this was a conversation to be had with his siblings.  No one but a Stark would decide the Starks’ fate. In fact, Jon had already resolved that Bran would have final word as was his right.

“The North need not be concerned about the Starks. We are not lions or dragons. We do not fight amongst ourselves.”  Jon said a little bit more agitated than he intended. Suddenly he heard his father’s voice in his head: _when the snows fall and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives_. He needed to get home.

“Aye, your Grace.  Never have we known of any Stark fighting kin.  Please forgive me.”

Jon only nodded.  

“Your Grace,” Davos’ voice broke the awkward silence and Jon was grateful. “The days grow shorter every day, the sun will set soon. If we intend to sail this evening we must best going.”

 Jon turned towards Wyman. 

“Lord Manderly, when I sent word of my arrival I asked that you find me blacksmiths who would join me back to Winterfell. Have you these men?”

“We have, your Grace,” answered Wylis.  “All from White Harbor and all known to us.  They will not fail you.”

“I thank you.  Have you had any luck finding obsidian?”

“We have asked all maesters to search every book in the area your Grace, looking for any hint of its existence,”  said Wynafryd.  “I, myself, have looked through dozens of books and found no trace of obsidian in our lands.”

“Our Wynafryd has devoted her time to this task your Grace, if there is any obsidian in White Harbor she will eventually find it,” said Wyman Manderly brimming with pride.

Jon turned to Wynafryd and he knew that old Manderly was not boasting.  He was reminded of the bravery of Lady Mormont, the steel of Lady Stark, his sister, the fierce abandonment of the spear wives in battle and now looking at these two girls he wonder how the North could ever be defeated by anyone.  

“Lady Wynafryd, my father always said that we must band together in winter to survive, I thank you for showing me that this can be done, that this will be done.”

Lady Wynafryd did not bow her head or lower her eyes, her cheeks did not turn pink.  Instead she looked Jon in the eye and gave him a genuine smile and for a moment Jon thought that if life had been different, if he was not who he was, if he had not done what he had done, seen what he had seen, he would perhaps be deserving of someone like Wynafryd.  But alas, he was Jon Snow, a bastard King.  He had made a vow and dead or not he was still bound to the promise of protecting the realms of men.  He knew the price to pay for that, Jon would never have a Wynafryd nor would he know the feel of a newborn son in his arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Apologies for the long break in writing. I was away for a while, then I was lazy and then I got stuck with an Arya chapter that was not coming along so I decided to let it go and turn to Jon for a while. I want to thank everyone for reading and also for commenting. I do read comments even if I'm horrible at responding to them. Many comments seem to touch on a potential pairing for Jon and to be honest given the nightmare that is coming to them all, I'm not sure there is any time for a real romance. Jon, at least to me, is a character so driven by duty that everything else comes in second, except perhaps his family. From my perspective, if Jon marries before, during or even in the immediate aftermath of the Long Night 2.0, he will marry for duty. I just haven't decided which match would make more sense in terms of political stability. Anyhow, just wanted to touch on that. Now I'm off to see if I can finally tackle that Arya chapter.


	37. ARYA

**ARYA**

Arya had climbed the steps to the Bell Tower in the dark of night, the tower that had been once used by Maester Luwin.  For some reason, perhaps due to its frigid dampness, the current maester had requested a stay elsewhere in the castle.  

Arya had spent plenty of time in this tower as a child listening to their maester read from the old books.  She had learned about Visenya and Dark Sister; she had learned that princesses and queens could also conquer and rule like Aegon’s sisters once did.  She had loved those particular stories whereas her sister had fallen in love with the likes of Jonquil and her fool.  Being outnumbered by so many boys -and Arya- meant that Sansa’s favorite love stories were often set aside for the retelling of famous battles and even more famous knights.  Arya remembered Jon’s eyes coming alive when Daeron Targaryen, the Young Dragon’s tales were recounted.  Even as children, it was rare to see a smile crossed her favorite brother’s face, so when it happened Arya simply held onto the image for safe keeping.  

It was perhaps feeling this type of melancholy about the past that had driven Arya to seek the tower.  She was back home with two of her remaining siblings and yet her thoughts were constantly running towards Jon.  He had been the reason she decided to return and his continuous absence made her uneasy.  Seeing the Stark banner draped down the walls of her family’s keep, seeing a regal Sansa walking the castle battlements and halls, imparting orders like their lady mother once did gave Arya a sense of hope.  The Starks were back in the North where they belonged. Only, their King was missing somewhere south and Arya could do nothing to protect him.  

Sansa would often complained about Jon’s obstinance, about Jon’s disregard of danger, _even after what has been done to him_ , she would say, _to all of us_.  Arya and Bran would sit there and listen as she would railed against their half brother’s decision making.  Arya said nothing because no such words were ever uttered outside the doors of the Stark’s confidence.  It was very like Sansa to have grievances against their half brother, they were hardly more than mere acquaintances growing up.  But Arya could see her sister was doing her best to protect Jon’s status before their banner men, especially before the southerners who had come to House Stark’s aide. 

Arya secretly agreed that it was a mistake for Jon to have marched south, though her reasons differed from her sister’s.  _Jon needed to go_ , Bran had told them in the middle of a particular argument between the sisters.  Arya did not doubt it only she would have given anything to have arrived sooner so she could have gone with him. _They already took so much_ , she heard herself say not realizing she was voicing a thought meant only for herself.  But Bran, who seemed to know everything and yet shared little, trained his eyes on her and simply said “they will not take him. He is of the North. He’ll mussed your hair again.”

That had been almost a moon’s turn ago and Jon was still somewhere south, vulnerable to the dragon queen and the mad queen in Kingslanding. And this particular night, aside from melancholy, Arya was fighting an incredibly sense of disquietude.  It had all started with the return of Lord Glover who had come with news from the Hill clans.  So desperate was the situation that some of their small folk had had no choice but to turn to the Night’s Watch for shelter.

“The howling of the wind is so loud, the cold so invading that some of our men have risked their lives and have set aside their pride and are now living with wildlings.  Some of the same wildlings who in the past have raided, raped and murdered our people.”

“Have they not sought shelter with the Umbers or the Karstarks?  Sansa had asked.

“The young lord Umber and Lady Karstark are doing their best but both houses lost many abled bodies during the battle of the bastar—” Lord Glover stopped himself from finishing, “during the battle for Winterfell. They have taken some of the small folk but are ill equipped to take anymore.”

“And the Night’s Watch? Have they had any news from beyond the Wall? I’ve received no ravens recently.”

“ I met briefly with Lord Commander Tollett.  Everything is quiet, he said. Too quiet.  He corroborated your brother’s - our Grace- accounts of the walkers.”

“Did you doubt your King’s word, my lord?”  Arya asked, immediately sensing tension throughout the room.  Her sister had slightly twitched, worried most likely about an escalation of her temper.  Lord Glover had turned his eyes to Arya and studied her. It was not their first meeting but it was the first time Arya had addressed any of the banner men individually.Through the corner of her eye, she had noticed the former Master of Coin trying to hide another one of his smirks.  It had been within hours of her return that Arya had started considering adding the weasel to her list.

“I bent the knee to your brother, Lady Arya,”  Glover answered, “ _after_ he had warned us all about the coming storm.  I did not believe then and I do not believe now that a son of Eddard Stark would lie to the North. At the same time, tales of the Long Night and the monsters that came with it were only stories wet-nurses and old people told kids to scare them.  You might forgive some of us, my lady, for wanting all these to be untrue.”

“What we want and what we get are never hand in hand, my lord,” Arya replied.  “Both my brothers speak of the dead army and the Others.  The time for doubting is over.”

Just then, a piercing howl penetrated the thick walls forcing silence in the room.  _Ghost,_ Arya thought. Her disquietude started then, she couldn’t remember the last time she heard the white wolf howl.  _Has he ever?_   She stole a glance at Sansa whose composure remained intact. 

“I agree my lady,” Lord Glover continued after a short while.  “But the storm your brother warned us about is fast approaching and our King should be here to lead us.  The people need to see him, they need to look upon him the way they look at your lord father.  There was never a time when Eddard Stark was not by his people’s side.”

“His Grace,” Arya interjected, “is Lord Eddard Stark’s son, my lord.  Have no doubt about that.”

“My lady, I meant no offens—”

“What my lady sister meant to say, my lord,” Sansa stepped in, “is that Jon is truly made in father’s image.  My father was the best man we ever knew and our brother, our King, is very much like him.  He is honorable and brave and—”

“Loyal,” Arya added.  “And he loves the North.  No Northerner should ever doubt Jon’s loyalty.  He will be here soon to lead us and protect us.”  

_And I’ll protect him_ , she wanted to add but didn’t.  Sansa was working hard to minimize the impact of Jon’s absence, to make it less noticeable lest any lord thought to complain too much.  Arya understood that there was nothing to gain from picking fights with random banner men.  She would not let anyone do to Jon what had been done to both her father and Robb but she needed to see and learn.  She could ill afford to be blind to her surroundings.  She remembered the words the kindly man once told her about being able to know the truth from falsehood by using her eyes and learning to read people’s faces. So she bit her tongue and said no more for the night.

It is then when she started to notice the little dance going on.  These hardened lords trying to take measure of their liege, trying to see where her loyalties lied.  Perhaps wanting to position themselves between the siblings to see where the ultimate power would end.  Her sister would sit there and listen, smile some, agree partly with some of their grievances while never contradicting her brother’s rule.  _Trying to play it both ways_.  And then there was Petyr Baelish who hardly said anything to compromise himself, lest people hold him accountable to one way of thinking or another.  It seemed to her that the duplicity of the man was well known to everyone, even her sister, yet he was still kept around. Arya did not know what to make of it.

She had voiced her concerns over the man to Sansa and Bran.  Her sister had told her that being so rigid of thought had led to their father’s demise.  _Littlefinger is not to be trusted_ she said but he is _still useful to have around_.  Arya had then turned to her brother but instead found the three-eyed raven.  _He’s not yours to kill_ he had said then his eyes turned white and was gone into another one of his visions.

This particular night, Arya watched as Littlefinger sat placidly to watch Sansa hold court.  He smiled knowingly when Lord Glover once again bemoaned Jon’s absence and then exchanged furtive glances with her sister after one of her noncommittal answers did nothing to help either Lord Glover or her King.  Arya supposed that is how politics was played and she knew she was not cut out for it.  She was not one to smile in pretense while wearing her own face.  

It was plain to see that her sister was an apt player in the game though, she had been clearly influenced by Lord Baelish, she may not trust him but she seemed to look for his approval.  She watched them some more and wondered what Jon had made of their interaction.  _He probably hates him as much as I do_ , she thought.  Even as kids, her big brother was not one to feign amity for anyone.  _The unrefined nature of baseborns_ her lady mother had once called it.   But even then at her young age, Arya knew that Jon’s lack of pretense had little to do with his birth condition. Rather, she wondered and not for the first time if her lady mother had ever noticed that Jon was simply a younger version of her honorable husband.

After everyone had played their role and there was nothing else to be discussed or solved, Sansa had excused herself and walked off, Littlefinger’s eyes trailing after her but he had remained.  Perhaps tethered into place by Arya’s scrutiny.  He was not of the North; Kingslanding was a place of liars, thieves and traitors and he had survived and thrived there for long.  There was no doubt in her mind that everything about him was rotten and dangerous but she also knew that he would never revealed himself to Arya Stark, not even by mistake.  Whereas she had noticed a certain effort to approach Bran, Littlefinger had kept his distance from her.  A polite smile, a nod, a greeting but nothing else.  He knew he was under her gaze so he had let Sansa go unbothered.  

Arya had remained in the hall almost as a dare, she sensed that her presence and that of his younger brother unsettled many of the lords visiting the Great Hall.  Jon was a bastard but aside from that he was still what a son of Ned Stark ought to be.  Sansa was the epitome of a lady and a Northern lady at that.  But Bran was distant and taciturn, he sat and stared almost like one of the heart trees in the Goodswood.  And she, well, she heard whispers in the hall, _the she-wolf_ they called her behind her back so she knew it was not entirely a compliment. In truth though she almost delighted in the trepidation she caused among people.  _They ought to know s_ he told his siblings once, _they ought to know that the Starks will not allow anyone any betrayal_.

“You should tell that to Jon,” Sansa replied with a tinge of bitterness.

“Jon remains Jon, you ought to be thankful for that,” Bran added though Arya did not know whether that had been directed at Sansa or at both.  Her younger brother had mastered the art of ending conversations.  Maybe it was just that both sisters had learned early on that Bran did not care to interact so they always let him have the last word.

As much as northern girl as she was, Arya had not failed to notice that the days had been getting darker and colder every day.  Up high on the tower, she felt the wind howl so strongly, she wondered if she may have mistaken Ghost’s howl for the wind’s.  Her answered came came almost immediately when both competing howls blended into one.  

Arya ran to the window though she knew she was not likely to see the direwolf, he had a tendency to stalk the Goodswood, scaring everyone except for the Starks and Meera Reed to whom he had taken a liking.  What she saw instead was two figures protected in shadows near the dog kennels, though she knew right away that one was none other than Lord Baelish.  He was up to no good that was certain but Arya was too far to even venture his way.  She kicked the wall in frustration. 

She kept staring at the two so intensely that she hardly noticed that she was now looking at them from a different angle and from a much closer distance.  How did that happen? She also noticed a heaviness in her bones that had not been there before.  And the smells, even the snow could not disguised the smell of urine that told her clearly she was no longer the head of the pack.  If the vicious black dogs had not been threatening enough, now there was the white beast lurking around.  Though in truth, the white one had never deigned to look at her.  _Focus,_ a voice rang in her head and then discombobulated sounds became what she came to recognize as voices, human voices.

“He must have left White Harbor by now,” one of the man said, twiddling a small piece of parchment in his hands.

“How am I to restore the broken seal, my lord?” The other man asked.  “Correspondence by the King ought to be read only by Lady Stark or her Lord brother.  She did ask specifically that their communication remain private.”

“And yet, here you are, giving me access to a third note from the King and her ladyship is none the wiser.  You’ll replace the seal the same way you have done in the past.”

“You don’t understand.  The note did not bear the Stark seal, it was the blue of House Manderly. I do not—”

“It matters not. The note is signed by the smuggler and clearly dictated by Snow.  The Stark seal will do. Now get back to your duty and deliver the note to Lady Stark.”

“My lord, I will not do this anymore.  The King kept me despite me having served the Boltons, I do not intend to betray him.”

“Nor do I, maester.  No one wants Winterfell to remain under Stark rule more than I do.  I am here to ensure a Stark is always seated in the Great Hall of Winterfell.”

Suddenly, distraction comes in the form of separate noises and a new smell but she can’t quite place where they come from.

“My lord.”

Another human. 

“Go now, maester.”

She watches as the human with long robes disappears, taking away with him the smell of fresh herbs. The scent of the other human is strong but she cannot see him.

“You called?”

“White Knife? Is that the only way to travel by water from White Harbor to Winterfell?”

“It is my lord.  There are docking spots within a half day ride from Winterfell, less for lone riders.” 

“Do you remember that tale you told about the men in Molestown, the ones that had been sent by the Lannisters to join the Night’s Watch when Tommen was still king?”

“Yes, my lord.  None did join but some remained in the North fearing retribution from the Queen.”

“Queen Cersei has shown depravity in the way she deals with her enemies.  Perhaps the fine gentlemen would be interested in knowing that they might still have a chance to carry out their Queen’s orders.”

She noticed the lips of the slimy human turn upwards and a peculiar light flashed in his eyes.  For some reason this caused the pooling of something bile in the pit of her stomach and she felt it rising within her body. She growled.

The slimy human turned his head and regarded her not for a second before turning his attention to the other human who shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.  She felt her lips lift up and a particular rage concentrated in her mouth, she felt her teeth grinding against each other.

“Off you go. Find the men and tell them that they may still make her Queen proud at White Knife within a day or two. I trust that they will know who it is they are looking for, and if not, they can be done with all of them.  It was small party after all.”

The wind howls and she hears no more voices but the slimy human is still there, looking at her all amused.  She has a great need to charge at him and she does but the clicking metal she has around her neck stops her from reaching him.  She bares her teeth and tries again and again while he looks on almost bored.  She gives it one more try and pulls so hard that the air is strangled from her body and there’s pain in her throat.  The last thing she remembers is watching the human and turn away from her as she released the most pitiful of whimpers.

Arya comes through with a great gasp of air.  She has slid against the wall and is confused for a minute until she feels her throat on fire.  Gingerly the tip of her fingers find her neck and she feels the hotness of her skin despite the bitter cold that surrounds her.

_Jon,_ she whispers, and then she knows where she has to go next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone. Welcome to the chapter from hell. As I mentioned previously, this Arya chapter had been giving me fits and I left it alone for a while to write a Jon chapter but I couldn't keep doing that for story purposes so I had no choice but to keep at it until it became something. Not my favorite but it is what it is. I got majorly stuck on the age old question WWLFD? Hate the weasel but given how much of a unscrupulous and patient man he is, is difficult to figure out what his moves are when he finds himself in such a different place like Winterefell. Court intrigue is his thing, Winterfell is not that so his devices must be altered I suppose. Whatever, I just need to end him soon, you can only play with fire for so long before it consumes you. Thanks for reading and for your patience.


	38. TYRION

** TYRION **

Daenerys had not taken the news out of High Garden well.  In the end, Snow had been right, Lord Tarly was the key to securing the Reach and House Targaryen had chosen the wrong ally. 

“How did this happen?” she raged at him.

“The banner men turned against their liege lady—”

“Were they bought off, threatened, cowered by your sister?

“Only one it seems, the one that matter” Varys added.

“Tarly?” she asked in disgust.  Their silence was her answer.

“How is it that a northern bastard knew more about the politics in the south than both my advisers?” she continued.

Varys kept quiet, influenced perhaps by memories of past Targaryen rage but the Gods had cursed Tyrion with a tongue that often outpaced his clever mind.

“You trusted Lady Oleanna to deliver on her promise. Varys and I counseled the need for more allies.”

“And you brought me Jon Snow, a bastard King who refused to kneel before me.  We lost the Reach so that we could attempt to gain the North by sweet talking someone who never intended to take arms in our behalf.  We should have put an end to him, the North would be ours now.”

Tyrion watched as her eyes flamed out the moment she heard herself uttered those words.  The raged, it seems, was snuffed out by self awareness but his queen was young and proud to admit weakness in the open.  She took a minute to gather herself and continued.

“Remind me, how many men have now joined your sister’s army?”

“Tens of thousands of men.”  Tyrion said softly.

“And we lost them for what?  Eight thousand northerners and wildings?”

“We thought we had the Tyrell army secured, we didn’t choose one region for another.  The North is larger than all other regions combined, the Starks have a rich history in this land, they are probably the oldest Great House—”

“So they would have provided me legitimacy,  is that where you are heading with this?  My dragons provide me all the legitimacy that I will ever need.  And if you hadn’t stopped me with your excessive caution, my dragons would have provided me Kingslanding and your sister’s head in a platter already.”

Tyrion knew she meant it.  All of it.  She was not wrong.  No, technically, she was right.  While her dragons lived, Daenerys would certainly conquered Westeros and ruled it too.  But dragons were not immortal and she ought to know that.

“You once told me that your intent was to break the wheel and bring a new form of ruling to Westeros.  Whatever changes you ambition will be short-lived unless you build a strong foundation.  Fear is not a strong foundation.  Fear crumbles the moment anyone brave enough or stupid enough decides to defy it.

“I never intended to use my children to rule, only to conquer. The way Aegon and his sisters once did.  The small folk would have nothing to fear from me.  I would give them better lives than the Usurper or any of his dogs ever did.”

“No one here doubts it,” Tyrion heard Varys say.  “I have waited many years to see a Targaryen restored to power and I have seen you, your Grace. I have seen your good heart at work.  I know of your good intentions and I have witnessed your steely resolve.  The small folk will see a champion in you and they will love you . . .”

Tyrion saw light come back into Daenerys’ eyes and the beginning of a subtle smile started to form.

“ . . . in time,” Varys continued and the ghost of that smile disappeared.  Daenerys’ face turned to stone but the master of whispers was undeterred.  “The small folk do not know you, your Grace.  But they do know Ned Stark and Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn and even Tywin Lannister.  And yes, all those great lords are dead now but their children live and with them their names and legacy.  Ned Stark was a great lord to his people, both noble and otherwise.  His sons and daughters live and those folk will honor his memory by staying loyal to his family.  And you will find that even someone as ruthless as Tywin Lannister has inspired continuous loyalty to his house.”

“My family ruled Westeros for thousands of years, it was not long ago that a Targaryen ruled over all those mighty lords you mentioned. What about loyalty to my family and all that was taken from us? Viserys was always told that the small folk will rise for us and help us win the throne back.”

“The last Targaryen to sit that throne was—” Tyrion hesitated.

“The Mad King,” Daenerys finished for him.  “Will I ever be allowed from under his shadow if even my closest advisors seem intent of reminding me of this at every turn?  I have his blood yes, but so did Rhaegar and every one seemed to loved him.  So did Aegon V, Jaeharys I and Daeron II.  Won’t the people remember that?  Because if all they see in me is the father I never met, then what is there to fight for?  Is that what you are telling me?”  

“Of course not, your Grace,” Varys said softly.  “But there are things one can never take back once they are done, even in time.  Yes, Kingslanding would have eventually fallen to you after a massive dragon attack but unless you did not care to safeguard the people and the structures, all you would have ruled over would be ashes.”

“I rule over nothing now, Lord Varys.  And in the end, it may still come to fire and blood.  I did not make this journey in vain.  I understand your arguments, a part of me agrees but I also remember that compassion doesn’t always work in one’s favor.  I saved a woman from rape and that woman then turned around and murdered my unborn child and my husband.  All I ever wanted was to help her, all she could ever see was what the Dothraki had done to her and her people.  So it might be that even if I am the second coming of the Good Queen Alysanne, many will still see me as the Mad King’s daughter.  What would be the point then of shying away from using my strengths to win my birth right?”

There was a long silent pause.  Tyrion knew that for all her impulses, Daenerys was thoughtful. It was clear that she had spent time pondering the situation and her perspective was not wrong.  If he had been made more in the vein of his lord father, he would whole heartedly  support flying the dragons to Kingslanding and deposing his sister in whatever way necessary.  But he was an avid reader of history and he knew that Daenerys could never be the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror.  For one, Westeros despite its ongoing civil war, no longer resembled the warring territory that Aegon sought to conquer.  For better or worse, all regions had been united as one kingdom for hundreds of years under Targaryen and Baratheon rule and had learned to seek common ground when needed.  Fire and Blood would eventually win the war but just as Harrenhal had never really recovered from  Aegon’s attack, would Daenerys then rule from a city bathed in soot and blood? How long before some lord would rise against her?  Aegon had Visenya and Rhaenys at his side, both fierce warriors and pillars for the foundation of a dynasty.  Daenerys was the lone Targaryen and despite the great admiration he had for his own mind, Tyrion knew that he was not a great visual asset for his queen.  She needed allies, she already had fire and blood.

“Pledge your help to the North,” he heard himself say not knowing full well why the thought had flooded his mind.

Dany looked at him with incredulous eyes, confusion obfuscated whatever anger she was feeling.

“You are advising I bend the knee to Snow?”

“I’ve said no such thing your Grace. But I pray hear me out.”

Dany said nothing which he took as permission to continue.  He glanced nervously at Varys who looked even more perplexed than the queen.  

“Cersei has Kingslanding and she has the Westerlands.  She’s afraid of an attack on open field so she will not move from the Red Keep but if I know my sister she’s already gone after more allies, the ones she can still win over.”

“Euron Greyjoy,” he heard Varys whispered.

“Yes, Euron would be an obvious choice given Asha and Theon’s whereabouts.”

“Who else?” Daenerys asked.  “The have the Freys and with that the Riverlands.”

“A raven came this morning,” Varys added, “the rumor is someone took it upon themselves to avenge the Red Wedding.  Walter Frey and most of the men are gone.  Edmure Tully has been restored to his castle and the Riverlands have once again fallen under his command.” 

“Did you know about this?” Daenerys turned to Tyrion.

He bowed his head.  “The news on High Garden came right after.”

“I see,” is all she said.

“Edmure Tully will never allied with Cersei, not after what Tywin Lannister did to his sister’s family,” Varys contributed.

“How many men can the Riverlands offer?” Dany asked.

“You have the numbers, your Grace,” Tyrion said.  “This is not about that.  Additional men is never to be frown upon but you need the names on the wheel, how else are you to break the wheel if there’s no wheel to begin with.”

The queen looked at him in a way that told him that she had understood his meaning.  She may not like it but she couldn’t quite dismiss the truth in what he said.  While she still believed that as a Targaryen she was the rightful heir to the throne, she had begun to understand that others did not see it that way.

“Summon Lord Tully then,” she said.  “If we gain the Riverlands, Cersei is surrounded.  She cannot run to Dorne, Ellaria has made that very clear. If she wants to gain territory, she will need to venture out of The Crownlands.  Would she dare send the Reach forces to conquer on her behalf and expose her numbers in Kingslanding?”

“I’ve never met Edmure Tully but I did meet his sisters, he will not come.” Tyrion said.  “The Freys kept him prisoner for over a year after murdering his sister and his nephew at his own wedding.  He would be a fool to leave the Riverlands unprotected, besides by now he must know the Starks are back in Winterfell.”

“What are you saying?”

“Three of the remaining Starks have Tully blood,” Varys added.  “Edmure Tully swore allegiance to the King in the North—”

“Snow is not a Tully,” Daenerys spat out.  “He’s not even a Stark.”

“That didn’t matter to the North and it didn’t matter to his true born siblings.  Or even the Vale.  Nothing is certain but I would think Lord Tully would honor his pledge.”

“Then why are we even discussing him?  Who are the names that I should be pursuing then?  Who are these allies that you are so keen on seeking out?

Tyrion looked at his queen thoughtfully and could see her frustration boiling over.  She would not like what he was about to propose.  He, himself, did not like it much but he saw it as the only alternative to full fire and blood.

“Pledge your help to Jon Snow and let the North remain independent.  Spread the word about the threat from beyond the Wall, use the red priestesses if you have to, and let everyone know that you have come to save Westeros.  Convince the King in the North and the Riverlands and the Vale will follow. And soon after you will truly have Cersei surrounded with no way out.”

“And what if all of it is a lie? A delay tactic by the northerners.”

“I’m a man of books and I don’t usually believe in things I do not see.  But Jon Snow is transparent, to his own detriment.”

Something in Daenerys’ eyes told Tyrion she knew this to be true.

“What would be left to rule over if I allowed all these regions their own independence.  Will I be the queen of Kingslanding and no more?

“The Iron Islands and the North are in truth their own territories, both regions have separate religions and do not follow the Seven.  Westeros loses little without them in the picture.”

“And the Riverlands and the Vale?  What if they decide to seek their own independence  or worse, what if they chose to stay under northern rule?”

“Jon will never presumed to decide for either region, that I know for certain, so you will need to persuade Lord Tully and Lord Arryn to your side once the fighting is done.”

“By then,” Varys added, “they will no longer see you as only a threat to their existence.”

“Both houses rose against my father.  I know why the Starks did it, I can understand it.  Lord Stark and his son died at the hands of my father and the girl, the girl my brother loved so much—”

“Lyanna,” Varys interrupted.

“Lyanna,” she whispered trying out the name slowly in her tongue. “Viserys never knew her name, we only knew that our brother died with her name on his lips.”

There was a moment when nothing was said, Tyrion had feeling that his queen had gotten lost in a memory not quiet her own.  He had expected more questions on Rhaegar but her mind was back on track.

“The Tullys and the Arryns, what was their excuse?”

“Your Grace,” Varys said softly, “there was a moment in time when even Rhaegar questioned your father’s reign. Most houses did not need a personal reason for wanting your father out and even the ones that fought on the Targaryen side did so in loyalty to Rhaegar.”

“Eddard Stark was like a son to Jon Arryn,” Tyrion explained. “When you father asked for his head, after having burned Rickard and Brandon Stark, the Lord of the Vale made the only decision he could, protect Ned.  As for the Tullys, your father had killed Catelyn Tully’s husband to be, a young Ned Stark married her instead ensuring their continued support.  Hoster Tully would not abide to have his favorite daughter be widowed twice over.” 

“They will go with him,” Daenerys said without a hint of doubt in her voice.  “The Vale and the Riverlands will go with Snow.”

“I do not think so, the northern life is not endured well by those in the South,” Tyrion offered.  “But that is a risk you may need to take now.  It is up to you, Daenerys.  You can take your three dragons and burn Kingslanding to the ground along with Cersei and the remnants of the Lannister rule. Then move to gain the trust of your subjects or conquer those who do not bend to your will.  Or—”

“I will keep my word to the King in the North,” she said without hesitation.  “ I will not turn North until every region in the South is under my command and I’ll start with Cersei.  If the Red Keep needs to be rebuild, it will be. I can always rule from Dragonstone or from the Rock.  I will not attack anyone who remains neutral but once Cersei and her forces are destroyed, I would expect everyone south of the Neck to bend the knee.  I will revisit then if the North should fall under my Queendom.”

Tyrion felt a heaviness in his bones but all he could do was close his eyes.

“Your Grace—” he heard Varys’ voice.

“Will you call Greyworm, Lord Varys?” Daenerys interrupted.  “I will task the Unsullied with support on the ground, their discipline will save innocent lives.  The Dothraki will remain outside the city and will only engage in open field if the need be.”

There was a long pause, Tyrion had kept his eyes closed but even so he could tell that Varys had not moved. Daenerys’ voice broke the silence.

“I appreciate your counsel my lords but prolonging this war would only cause more misery and death.  I have three dragons and a large army still.  The allies will come after they see what my power can provide them.  And if they don’t ever learn to love me, they will at least respect me.  I am done waiting.”

 


	39. BRAN

**BRAN**

Arya had come to him as he had seen she would.  He had seen her slumped against the wall in the old tower, eyes gone white. He had seen her in the eyes of the old hunting dog, less bewildered than he had expected.  She was not as skilled a warg as he was but it was obvious she was less hesitant to her nature than Jon was.

She had come into his room and knelt beside his chair, seeking answers.

“Jon,” she had said.

“Jon is not meant for Cersei or Littlefinger,” he reassured her.  Whatever final destiny awaited his brother, he had not dared to look into.  The old part of him was afraid to know, he already knew too much.  But he knew what Arya had heard and knew it would come to nothing.  

“Cersei wants him dead, so does Littlefinger.  Find him Bran, tell me where he is. We must protect him.”

When looking into his sister’s past, Bran had seen all the horror, grief and violence she had withstood. He had seen her at the statue of Baelor as she helplessly witnessed their father’s execution.  He had seen her outside The Twins and he wondered how she was able to persevere with life. There was something incredibly perverse about confining someone as unyielding as Arya to the role of mere witness to the destruction of those she loved. By the way her eyes danced tonight, Bran understood that she would kill an entire army before she ever let anyone she loved be murdered before her eyes again.  And she loved Jon.  She loved Jon more than anything or anyone. 

Under Arya’s insistent gaze, Bran allowed his mind to find their brother and found him in two places at once. He found him slumped against a bed in small quarters smelling of seaweed and salt, eyes gone white.  He stared at him for a moment and wondered if that is how he looked like when using the sight. Only he knew that was not the case with Jon, his brother was simply visiting a friend and it was not hard to guess who. In an instant he left Jon’s body and he found himself staring at the giant white direwolf as he sniffed and padded along in the Winterfell Godswoods. _Jon_ , he said and Ghost lifted his head and stared at him in recognition.  Bran knew the moment Jon became aware of himself, the moment he released Ghost to go back to his body.  There was no need to follow him so he went back to Arya.

“He’s at sea and he is safe,” he said to her. 

“That doesn’t help,” she answered.  “How far from the White Knife is he?”

“White Knife?”

“That is where the men will be.”

“That is not where he will be,” he said in response.  Arya looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.  The old part of him understood her need for concrete answers but her worries were misplaced.  Jon and he -all of them- had more important things to worry about than Petyr Baelish. _Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark are dead because of him_ , a voice came unbidden to him and it jolted him.  Had he forgotten? Brandon Stark hadn’t, it was he who spoke to his sister next.

“He betrayed father,” he said. “He had always planned to do so.  He and Aunt Lysa killed Jon Arryn—”

“Does Sansa know this?” asked Arya.

He shook his head. “Not about father,” he added. 

He wants the North—” Arya said agitated.

“No,” Bran interrupted. “He wants Sansa.”

“And she knows,” Arya said with certainty.  Bran only looked at her and nodded. 

What is she playing at?” she spat without looking at him.

“She’s afraid.”

Arya turned her eyes to him. “Afraid of what?”

“Of being powerless.  She’s being through a lot.”

His sister cackled at that, they had all suffered much. He tried to explain.

“You have Needle, would you have survived without Needle?”

“What does that have to do with—”

“Would you have?”

He saw Arya instinctively reached for the pommel of the skinny sword.  She shook her head.

“I had Meera, Jojen, Hodor and Summer,” Bran added, surprising himself.  He hadn’t mentioned Hodor or Summer in a very long time, not even to Meera.  He continued.

“Sansa had no Needle, she was at the mercy of those who wanted to use her.  Baelish included.   Now for the first time, she feels safe but she’s always afraid that it will all be taken away.  If the Vale forces leave, if Cersei comes, if Jon fails . . . Sansa will do anything to protect Winterfell, even keep Littlefinger around.”

“No,” Arya said.  “She will do anything to protect herself and that is why he is still here.  As a provision.  Maybe she doesn’t want to hurt Jon but she will if she has to.  Only she probably never thought you and I would be coming back as well.”

Bran had grown tired.  “There is no time for infighting. Jon will not be attacked at White Knife. You will see him again.  What comes our way sister is deadlier, one day soon we all may wish to return to the days when the only threats we had to face were serpentine men like Baelish.”    

His sister just looked at him.  A world of emotions transversing through her eyes, much of which he knew she was trying to repressed from him.

“Jon will not stop by White Knife,” he said.  “He will make land at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.  You can go and meet him there or you can stop Cersei’s men from plunging knives into the unsuspecting man whom they will mistake for Jon.  If you do, you’ll be glad you did.  Jon will be back in Winterfell soon.”

Then he just stared at her in silence, watching her hesitate, the way she had always done when torn between her emotions and others’ expectations.  Bran remembered then how much he had favored her in their childhood, the girl who didn’t mind getting muddied and who loved a good fight.  A remote part of him felt flattered that she would truly consider his advice when clearly her pull was towards Jon.

“Alright,” was all she said.  She was gone early the next day without a word to anyone and with the white dire wolf at her side.  

 

Sansa had come to him almost immediately after noticing her absence, masking anger, frustration and a bit of dread.  She had found him with Meera who had yet to return home at Bran’s request.

“Will she be alright?” she asked in her Lady Stark voice.

Bran nodded.

“Could she not wait for him here like the rest of us?”

“She’s not gone to him,” he said in reply as if that was enough.  It never was, there was a long silence where Sansa’s eyes never left him.

“Lady Stark,” Meera finally broke the silence.  “The Lady Arya was worried about the King’s direwolf.  She said Ghost was restless and needed to go hunting, she said she would take him.  I told her that it was not safe but she would not listened.”

“No, she would not,” Sansa agreed.  

“She did say she would be back to welcome the King.”

“I don’t doubt it.  I suppose she is as safe as she can be with Ghost at her side,” Sansa added.

“The same can be said about him,” said Bran trying to offer Sansa a smile though the gesture felt foreign to him.

Sansa nodded.  Brother and sister looked at each other for a short while before Sansa bowed her head and turned to leave, stopping suddenly.

“Is Jon, will he back soon?” she asked without turning.  “You knew the moment that Arya was at the gates,” she added as an explanation to her question as she turned to look at her younger brother.

“The fleet will soon make land at White Knife,” he said.  

“Good,” she said, turned and left his chambers.

 

“Do you not trust your sister?” Meera had asked the moment Sansa had gone.

“I told her no lies, unlike you,” he added after a short pause.

“I did no such thing.  I was with Ghost when Arya came to find him and she told me exactly what I told Lady Stark.  I only chose not to share with her what I assumed you told me in confidence.

“I was only teasing,” Bran said.  “Though I am afraid I may have forgotten how.” 

Meera smiled.

“Will you tell your brother the truth?” she asked all of the sudden.

“I am not sure there’s a reason to,” he told her truthfully.

“The truth never needs a reason.”

“I think father did the right thing.”

“He did,” Meera said.  “Now you must do the same.”

Bran did not know what the right thing was in this situation and when he reached for wisdom among the Godswoods, he found none.  He did not need the sight to understand what the truth would do to Jon and at this very moment in time, it seemed to Bran that his brother was at the center of everything that was to come.     

 


	40. JON

**JON**

Jon had ordered most of his small fleet to make land at White Knife.  He had taken a single vessel to Dragonstone but Lord Manderly had made good on his promise and procured a number of strong men to serve as smiths at Winterfell and at the Wall in preparation for the battles to come.  He had also gifted the Starks two handsome vessels, one for his King, he said, the other for Lady Stark.  Jon was to convey to Sansa that the work on her vessel, _Lady_ , was especially overseen by Larence Snow, son of the late Halys Hornwood, whom was pleased to see the Starks restored to power but even more pleased to learn of the fate of Ramsay Snow who had starved his father’s wife to death.

“A young and courageous lad,” Lord Manderly had said. “He would be an exemplary Lord Hornwood if it pleases his Grace. He was a under the tutelage of Galbart Glover who would know him best.”

“Was there ever any news from him, my lord?  Robbet Glover thinks him gone at the Red Wedding but Lady Mormont has heard whispers that he may yet be alive—”

“Aye, along with Maege Mormont.  I heard the tale but I knew those two, if they were alive they would have been at your side.  No one has seen them, I reckon the Freys cut their throats like they did with the rest of our people.”

Nothing else was added, though Jon promised Lord Manderly to consider Larence’s position. He thanked his bannerman for his generous gifts but was even more grateful when he was finally able to feel the wind against his face as his ships sailed away.  For a brief moment, he let the excitement of anticipation washed over him.  Every day he drew closer to reuniting with Bran whom he last saw laying unconscious on a bed; he had promised him a visit to the Wall that much he remembered.  He was also closer to seeing Arya again whose memory he had cherished more than anyone else’s.  _Arya_ , he closed his eyes and saw the little girl who had jumped into his arms as they shared their farewells.  _Stick them with the pointy end_ , had been part of his last words to her.  She had survived in a world gone mad, perhaps she had heed his advice after all.  He will soon find out. 

Jon had met with the smiths briefly before boarding his old ship, a couple of them joined him on board as they were needed at the Wall.  The others would board the new vessels and make land at White Knife, a shorter distance to Winterfell by land, convenient when needing to carry the obsidian that came aboard.  Sir Davos had recognized a couple of the men from his days at Flea Bottom, an old man whose face betrayed a hard life, harder even than the faces he had seen up North and a young lad who reminded Jon of a charging bull.  Both boarded the _White Wolf,_ the King’s new vessel, with Winterfell as their final destination.  

Davos had asked Jon if a raven should be sent to Winterfell to alert them to his stop in Eastwatch. Jon shook his head, it was likely that both parties would reach Winterfell within a few days of each other but if for some reason he was delayed longer at the Wall, he was sure Bran would know his whereabouts without the need of a raven.  

What Jon did not share with Davos was the nagging feeling he had been carrying with him the last couple of days.  It had begun as he approached White Harbor and drew closer to the North.  By then it had been weeks without the presence of Ghost.  They had separated before but Jon could always sense his direwolf, even as far away as Dragonstone. Until the day he came in contact with the black dragon and his senses were overwhelmed by an unknown feeling, terrifying and exhilarating all at once.  He knew the dragon would not hurt him, he knew the dragon was intrigued by him, he sensed a recognition in the beast of something that alluded but petrified Jon.  His wolf dreams ceased since then and from time to time he would wake up to fierce whips of wind hitting his face only to realize he was earthbound in his bed.  He did not know if the disquietude he felt came from the loss of Ghost or from the nascent bond he felt for the flying beasts he had just met.  _Maybe I’m truly a warg_ , he thought as a way to soothe his mind.

But as Dragonstone faded and White Harbor came into view he recognized the taste of snow in his mouth and the smell of the Godswood in his nostrils.  Ghost had come back to him to his great relief.  And with Ghost, his wolf dreams.

He felt soft hands pet his head and as he looked up he recognized the frail human with hair similar to the leaves of the Godswood.  She was looking at him as if she was trying to find someone else inside his eyes.  Another time, he felt a soft body sit next to him in silence.  This other human had a gentle face and dark brown eyes but he had never seen her before, he sensed her sadness and he had an impulse to rest his head on her lap and her small hands played with his fur mindlessly until he closed his eyes and faded away.  Jon woke up to Davos’ voice and a knock at his door. 

The night that White Harbor faded from view, he found himself padding through the snow, restless.  His belly was full but he felt corralled, he would howl and the wind would howl back.  Sometimes he felt the small black winged creatures looking at him, same as the tree with the sad face.  Then a familiar voice spoke to him, no, not to him, to his human and he looked up and saw the boy who was no longer a boy and he said his name.  He felt panicked and discombobulated.  Jon woke up with shortness of breath in the middle of the night to find himself on the floor resting against his bed.  Bran, he had seen Bran and had gone afraid. _Jon_ , he had said and gave him a little smile and Jon could have swore he saw him standing on his own two feet.  But it had been brief and Jon could not have forced himself to go back to Ghost even if he wanted to.  Their bond, this type of bond, was never deliberate, Jon had always denied himself the knowledge that came so natural to the likes of Orell and other wargs.  

 

 

In the morning, the temperature had turned remarkably cold and the winds punishing.  The captain had informed them that they would make landfall in Eastwatch-by-the-Sea that very evening; Davos had sent ravens to Eastwatch and Castle Black at his command. He had asked Edd to join him there, Cotter Pyke was a good and reliable commander but part of the old guard; Jon had not forgotten the knives in the dark.  Edd was a friend besides and Jon would be glad to lay eyes upon him again.  

The days had begun to turn dark a couple of hours past noon in the North and Jon remembered the tales Old Nan used to tell about the sun hiding for years and people spending lifetimes in darkness. He shivered.  It could not have been past three when a horn was heard and Jon knew that they had reached their destination.  There was hardly any light but for the torches of the few brothers that awaited them. 

“Your grace,” Edd greeted him. “I would kneel but with my luck I’ll freeze in place and then you would have to carry me inside.”

Jon looked at him for a while. It was so good to see him again, his friend.

“Or we could just leave you in place” Jon said and smiled. Edd returned the smile, hand extended.  Jon took it and pulled him into a hug.

“It might be kinder,” Edd said.  “I don’t fancy what is coming our way.”

Jon nodded and said nothing else.  A bitter gust of wind swayed the men and without a word they headed to the castle, lest they truly freeze in place.

Jon was no longer Lord Commander or even a brother of the Night’s Watch but none of the men in black seemed to remember or care.  Cotter Pyke spent hours complaining to Jon about dealing with undisciplined wildlings though he admitted that perhaps it was no different than dealing with the kind of recruits the Night’s Watch had been receiving over the last few years.

“At least they know the enemy,” he said as he spat on the floor.  “Some of them remember Hardhome as I do.”

Jon had spoken to the men about the dragons he had seen and the obsidian he had been able to obtained.  He did not lie to them, it would do them no good.  The picture he painted was bleak, the North, he said, would have to do it alone. 

“Mayhaps this Dragon Queen will come to her senses,” Cotter Pyke said.

“Or perhaps, she will decide to burn us all alive, living and dead,” Dolorous replied.  “After all, she’s the Mad King’s daughter, isn’t she?”

Jon shook his head and was about to reply when Cotter spoke again.

“Not all the dragons were mad.  I was a younger then and drunk but I remember seeing the young dragon prince walking the streets of Harlaw.  He was heir to the throne and already a famed warrior though he could not have been older than Snow here.  He walked in the midst of pirates and salt wives and yet he did not shrink. He was kind, even to those who most lords would not see.”

_And he kidnapped, raped and killed my aunt Lyanna_ , Jon thought in silence.  His lord father had not been in the habit of speaking of his dead siblings.  Jon, in fact, could not remember his father ever uttering a word of bitterness or hatred against the dragon lords but others in the North did tell tales about the death of the Winterfell lords and the beautiful blue rose who had fallen victim to a capricious crowned prince.  But that was all in the past or it ought to be.

“Mad or not, she does not believe in the threat we are facing.  I did what I could and now it is up to fate,” Jon said. “We prepare alone as best we can.”

“We have thinned our numbers trying to man every castle,” Edd said.  “Even with the wildlings, 19 castles is too large a number.”

“Aye,” Jon added with a nod.  “The enemy does not seem to spread their forces, they move as one.  Manning the castles might provide us with eyes at numerous points but it certainly worsens our disadvantage number wise. I think it best to sacrifice eyes than numbers.”

“You may not need to sacrifice eyes,” Edd told him.  Jon looked at him waiting for an explanation.  “Wargs,” is all he added.

“Wargs?” Cotter Pyke spat again.

“Don’t be so sensitive Pyke,” Edd replied. “There are dead things coming to kill us and you frown upon skin changers? At least those are not trying to kill you, at most they might confuse you with an old bear and try to enter your mind.  Soon enough they’d notice their mistake and flee.”

“Strange times we’re living.  But when dead men rise to murder the living, one best not question any means that might help stop them, unless we fancy becoming one of them,” Davos offered.

“Aye,” Jon said as he heard Cotter Pyke mumbled something indecipherable.  “Strange times indeed.  But the Lord Commander is right, wargs can serve as our eyes above.  I knew one warg among the wildlings, Orrell—he’s dead.  Then there was another one, Borroq.”

“The one with the boar?” asked Edd.

“Aye, that’s him. I remember he was meant for Stonedoor but never knew if he left. Find him and set him the task to spy on the enemy from above.  And find others of his kind.  I will ask Tormund if he knows any one else.”

“Your lord brother,” Edd said. 

“Bran?” Jon asked not sure what Edd meant.

“The Lord of Winterfell is one your Grace.”

“He has the sight I’ve been told, it is not the same.”

“I have seen him enter an animal’s mind to spy on the enemy.”

“You’ve seen my brother?”  Jon asked and Edd nodded.  “Did he - was it his direwolf? Was he alone?”

“It was a raven.  He said the enemy was marching slowly as if waiting for something.  He had no direwolf with him, there was only a girl, a brave young girl, a lady from Greywater Watch, she said.”

“A Reed,” Jon said and the image of the young girl with a soft face and brown eyes came to him unbidden.  _Bran, a warg,_ he thought.  _I, myself, a warg.  What would father think of us?_

“Aye, Meera Reed, was her name.”

 

That night at Eastwatch was as cold a night as Jon could remember.  He had spent time sleeping on the cold hard floor of the frozen lands beyond the Wall yet somehow those nights had felt warmer. Even the protection granted by four walls, a ceiling and some burning wood could not mitigate the effect of the chill piercing skin and reaching bone deep.  The cold distracted him from sleep for what he felt was an eternity but eventually exhaustion had won out and soon his eyes closed to the darkness.

“I am trusting my brother,” he heard a human voice said and he opened his eyes to see snow and a line of trees around.  The cold had lost some of its bitterness.

“But I am also trusting you,” the voice continued.  “I’ve often dreamt of Nymeria and even after all this time, I know she’s alright.  Jon must dream of you.  You would let me know if he was in danger, would you not?” He felt eyes on him, he turned his head upwards and saw the source.  It was a girl, a face he knew, she smelled of home and it made him want to cry out.

Jon woke up with a start and a scream constricted in his chest which soon caught in his throat. _Arya_. She was no longer little but he would recognized her face anywhere.  He had thought of her often enough since they said their farewells that somehow a perfect image had been frozen in his mind.  In fact, it was she who had occupied the last seconds of his consciousness before his death at Castle Black.  Arya and Ghost.  And now they were together but where?

He willed himself to go back to them but all he could managed were little glimpses here and there.  Enough glimpses to know that his little sister was roaming alone through the woods with no guards around.  _She is with Ghost,_ he reminded himself once back in his body.  The thought was reassuring but only briefly. Why was Arya not at Winterfell? Why would Sansa let her leave?  He shook his head.  Arya would do what Arya would do regardless of her sister’s wishes. 

_She was worried about me_ , he thought, _is she looking for me_?  He knew the answer to that and he grew concerned.  Jon was a king, responsible for the lives of all his subjects and true to the oath he once took he felt a duty to shield all man kind.  But if duty made him feel responsible for every man, woman and child, his heart understood that he was likely to sacrifice duty to safeguard his loved ones.  _Love is the death of duty._   He spent the night away wishing for darkness to subside, the sooner there was light, the sooner they could depart, the sooner he could get to Arya or Arya could get to him.

 

The next morning upon first light, the men disembarked two trunks full of obsidian and some grains and salt that had come from the ports of White Harbor.  All the food supply was meant for Winterfell but Jon knew the need of his former brothers and could not deny them.  He was certain that his lady sister had been busy restocking Winterfell’s supplies and he also suspected that it may not be enough.  Still what kind of king would he be if he did not feed all his people and the Wall was in the North thus every black brother was as Northerner as any Glover or any Flint.  

Half of the obsidian and half of the smiths were to remain at Eastwatch, the other halves would part with the Lord Commander to Castle Black.  Jon and his men would ride with Edd and then part ways to Winterfell from there.  The snow would no doubt slow them down but Jon hoped to be back home in a moon’s turn.  He had been gone months longer than he intended and as he inhaled the chilled winds of the ocean, he knew he had returned at the dawning of the storm.


	41. ARYA

**ARYA**

Snow was ever present in the North, even in summertime; Arya could move on it as the Dornish could move on sand.  But the intense white substance that now blanketed her land was beyond anything she had ever experienced.  She could almost hear Old Nan’s ragged voice whispering: _summer child, you have never lived through a winter until now._

Arya had left the security of Winterfell at the dying of the night; White Knife was a day or two away. She had mounted a horse, the most stout one she could find and had sought Ghost amongst the weirwood trees and asked him to come with her.  The white dire wolf sniffed her extended hand, considered her for a moment and proceeded to lead the way. The guards had looked confused when they saw her approach the gates but one look at Ghost’s bared fangs was enough to let them pass through without resistance.

Several hours had passed since then, the sun had risen and its light bouncing off the whiteness of the snow was often painful to the eye.  She need not worry though, the presence of the sun had been diminishing day by day.  It was often dark past noon.  In the white vastness, she could not properly tell how much of a distance they had covered.  She had been to White Knife twice in her life but it had always been via carriage, her lady mother would have never allowed her daughters to mount horses on such long journeys.  She knew she needed some guidance but they had not seen a single soul yet, even though they had kept close to the road.  She was tempted to head west to Castle Cerwyn but that would have added at least half a day to their journey.  

Ghost had not left her side but she knew the dire wolf needed to eat more than the scraps that she had brought with her.  _Maybe I should hunt with him_ , she thought but decided against it for fearing of slowing him down.  Instead she dismounted her horse and let them into the woods nearby.  She would make camp near the edge.

Fear was not something that Arya felt very often, not anymore.  She had learned how to fend for herself but walking next to Ghost made her feel protected in a way she had not felt since the last time her lord father wrapped her in his arms. She wondered if Jon felt the same way about his dire wolf and wished not for the first time that her brother, her king, had taken his wolf with him.  The memory of Grey Wind, locked in a cage as Robb was butchered, haunted her.  Jon needed his wolf and Arya would remind him of that when next they— 

“I am trusting my brother,” she suddenly said to the wolf, she couldn’t help the tears that moisten her eyes then.  Ghost’s red eyes shot up and locked into her face, he seemed curious.

“But I am also trusting you,” she continued.  “I’ve often dreamt of Nymeria and even after all this time, I know she’s alright.  Jon must dream of you.  You would let me know if he was in danger, would you not?”

Something in Ghost’s eyes changed a bit, they became achingly familiar.  It lasted a brief moment but it was enough. Arya shivered and smiled. Jon was alright and she would make sure things stayed that way.  Bran had told her to head to White Knife and save an innocent life.  She would do that but her true intentions were different, she could not yet kill  the treacherous Littlefinger but she would make sure to send a message to anyone who would dare harm those she loved.

 

Arya had lit a fire as she waited for Ghost to return from hunting, her exhaustion soon overcoming her.  There were no memories of getting up to find him but at some point she opened her eyes and saw him standing in front of her.  She had grown since the last time they had seen each other but even now he was still bigger than her.  Still the scent of her brother was unmistakable.  His was the only scent left, the others were gone.  She had felt a hollowness every time one of their lives was extinguished.  One look at those red eyes and she knew, her brother had also felt every death as his own.  She howled then in remembrance and the rest of her pack did as well from a far, they had sniffed her brother’s scent and would not join her. She did not blame them, he was something to behold.  He did not howl back, he did not need to, he only sat next to her in silence like when they were pups and that was enough.  He smelled of home and also smelled of her, the young girl who threw rocks at her while her eyes shined in sadness.  Her brother looked at her then and turned his head towards the edge of the woods.  

Arya woke startled by an unconfined pang in her chest, a cluttering of feelings she could not sort out.  Ghost had come back; she looked at the great creature laid out next to her and found some aching comfort in his presence.  She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to take her anew.

 

 

The next day as their march continued they finally spotted faint smoke which led them to a small house. The family there welcomed them, offering shelter and food.  Arya refused any food, she had enough for her journey and would not take from a family that clearly will be lacking soon.  She was not wearing her Stark clothing, she had wanted to travel unidentified but it was clear by the deference in which she was being treated that these people suspected her a highborn.  Ghost perhaps being the give away.  The White Wolf. 

Arya sat next to the fire for a while drinking a hot cup of tea to warm her belly before taking on the road again.  White Knife she was told was only half a day a way, she might be able to reach it past midnight or early morning if she decided to seek shelter outside the port.  Ghost had been allowed into the small quarters, even though no one would dare come near him.  He had laid at Arya’s feet, enjoying the warmth of the fire.  No one had really spoken to her unless addressed and she did not want to force a conversation.  Her hosts were amiable but weary, it did not bother her, she had learned to enjoy silence.  As she looked past the fire, she started thinking about Bran’s words and wondered what quest he had sent her in.  He had been cryptic and truth be told she didn’t think much about the life she would be saving as much as she thought about the lives that she would be taking.  Cersei’s men’s lives, Littlefinger’s men’s lives.  Men sent to kill her King, her brother, the one person who had always loved her for who she was.  _Will he love who you’ve become?_ she thought to herself but did not want to think about the answer.  Ghost lifted his head then and laid it on top of her feet, she smiled and began scratching behind his ears.

“Is he really the King?” she heard a small voice come from her left.  She lifted her eyes and was surprised to see that all eyes were on her.  How long had they been watching them? She did not know.  She turned towards the voice and found the youngest daughter fidgeting with her dress and taking furtive glances at the white dire wolf. 

“The King?” Arya asked, though she had a good idea of what the little girl was referring to.

“Father said that we have a new King now, the White Wolf.  The Stark King who turns into a White Wolf to kill all his enemies.”

“Lyarra! That’s enough.” The father intervened though he also kept his eyes on Ghost as if expecting him to turn into a man.

“That’s quite alright,” Arya said with a faint smile.  “This is Ghost,” she added as she patted the wolf on his head. “He will not turn into a King today but he does belong to his Grace, our King.”

“How is our King, m’lady? The winter makes it difficult to go to town and hear news.  Last we heard is that he had gone south and never returned like his father and brother before him.  There are other rumors around, some that seem to come straight from old tales of the First Men, but none worse than losing another Stark.”

“There is lady Stark,” the wife reminded him.

“Aye, but can she lead us in battle? And—”

“Lady Stark is Lord Eddard’s daughter,” Arya told them. “She was taught to love the North and she’s not alone. Four of Lord Eddard’s children remained, including our King who is on his way home.”

“The Old Gods guard them,” the wife added.

_No gods have guarded us_ , thought Arya.  Her siblings and she were alive because no one had succeeded at killing them, tried as they did.  But this family and many other small folk could probably claim the same.  Arya looked around the room again, in all her tribulations she had never thought to stop and think how poor, working people were faring in the wars started by lords, kings and queens that they will never ever meet.  And now she wondered if enough was being done to warn them about what was to come. 

“The other rumors,” she said, “they are true. The enemy from the beyond the Wall is coming our way.”

“The wildlings? I heard the King brought the wildlings and made them kneel,” the husband said.

“No, not the wildlings.  The wildlings are not the enemy, the enemy comes from the Lands of Always Winter and they come with the dead.  The King has seen them, the Lord of Winterfell has as well.” 

“The return of the Long Night,” the wife said.  “My grandmother used to warn us children of the winter that never leaves.  The winter that comes with creatures made of ice and—”

“The Old Gods will protect us,” interrupted the husband.   

“I can’t speak for the Old Gods,” said Arya, “but I do not think you can ride the storm out here by yourselves. Head to Winterfell or to White Harbor, find shelter. The sooner the better.”

“If we leave our land, someone will claim it. We would lose everything” the husband said.

“Winter will claim you if you stay and then your lands will be given away just the same.  You must survive first.  Go to Winterfell, the Starks will offer you shelter.”

“And you, m’lady?” asked the wife.  “You travel alone in dangerous times, will you not seek shelter?”

“I have business to attend to nearby but I will not linger,” Arya said while getting up.  “I plan to pass these lands again tomorrow on my way back to Winterfell,” she paused, “if you wanted company on your way there.” She then nodded at the family who were huddled together, she hoped they would listen.  They had been kind to her, just like the old man and his daughter had been kind to her and the Hound many moons ago.  She smiled at the memory, adjusted her furs and headed for the door, Ghost right behind her.

“Thank you,” Arya said with one last glance and she exited to look for her horse.

 

It was already dark when they had reached the port.  Arya longed for the comforts of a bed or even a bared room with walls and ceiling for protection against the cold.  But she did not want to give herself away and one look at Ghost would be enough.  She looked at the dire wolf and for the briefest of moments regretted having brought him along.  She didn’t really need him for protection, not her own, but if Bran had been wrong and Jon would make land at White Knife then she knew Ghost would defend him with his life as would she.  She took one last forlorn look at the shimmering torch lights of the port and looked for a decent spot amongst the trees to make camp.  In a minute she had a fire going and before she knew it tiredness overtook her, she laid her head on Ghost’s side and closed her eyes.

At some point, Arya heard the snap of a branch and the sound of boots crushing snow. She sprung to her feet immediately, a hand on Needle’s pommel.  An old man and a boy stopped on their tracks upon seeing her but after regarding her for a moment, the old man tsk in disapproval and kept walking, the boy eyed her suspiciously but followed the old man into the port.  _Fishermen_ , Arya thought, slowing down her breathing some.  Suddenly she realized that Ghost was no where to be found.  The snow had already erased his paw tracks but it was not difficult to guess he may have gone hunting.  She shook sleep away and gathered her things before mounting the horse.  Ghost would find her when he was ready.

As Arya entered the small post, she noticed the mundane comings and goings of its people.  Just like the family she had met the day prior, it seemed to her that these folks were not aware of the threat they were facing.  Her sister had mentioned Jon’s directive to alert as many people as possible, she began to suspect no lord had thought to alert their own folk.  

Arya made her way into the only inn in the surroundings, she was starving and she had the coin to afford a hot meal.  She took a seat closest to a window which gave her a view of any new ships sailing into the port.  There were no large vessels currently anchored around, her brother’s vessels had yet to arrive.

“What can I get you, lad?  I gotta warn you though, you’ll find no fancy food here. The only fresh thing I can offer is the fish.  And even that is no longer what it used to be.  Brave is the fish that surfaces into this cold.”

Arya looked up to find an old woman staring at her.  She saw a light passed her eyes in recognition but it was gone before Arya had even time to question it.  If the old lady knew her identity she did not mention it.

“Anything hot will do,” she said. “I need to warm my belly.” 

The old lady nodded and left without another word.  Arya was the only one in the inn at the moment but it was not surprising, it was late to break fast and too early for an afternoon meal.  The comings and goings in the streets were equally eventful.  She had seen no one suspicious, perhaps Cersei’s men were already somewhere near the docks waiting for her brother’s ships.

“Here you go,” said the old lady while she placed a bowl of porridge on the table with a warm piece of bread and a hot mug of tea.

Arya’s mouth watered to her annoyance.  She was getting soft, it had been only a mere two days away from the comforts of Winterfell and she was reacting to a bowl of porridge as if she had been starved for months.  Arry, Cat of the Canals and Blind Beth would be disgusted by her.

“Well if you continue to stare at your bowl without eating, the porridge will go cold and I’m not inclined to warm it for you,” the old lady snapped her from her wandering thoughts.

“Looks good,” Arya said before shoving a spoon of the gooey stuff into her mouth.

“It ain’t,” said the old lady giving her toothless smile.  “At least not compared to the type of food ladies like you are used to.”

“I’m not a lady,” Arya said as she swallowed; the old lady was not lying but at least the porridge was warm enough to quiet down her rumbling belly.  

“Not a lady? When I first saw you, I thought you a lad but on close inspection the lad is gone.  Besides, I have seen you likeness before many years ago.”

Arya looked puzzled at this.

“She was the light of her father’s eyes and the fiercest of all the Stark children.  Of the four pups, only two survived to see the next generation.  And now I fear all four are gone before their time.  I am an old woman who should have gone before them but I’m here serving hot porridge to a not-lady who looks very much like the lady who stole the heart of a prince and paid for it with her life.”

“Lyanna.” Arya said.

The old lady inclined her head in agreement. “You are too young to be her daughter,” she said, “but you must be Lord Eddard’s—” 

“I rather people not know,” Arya interrupted though there was a certain pleading in her tone. 

“Are you waiting on the King’s ships?”

Arya nodded.  

“I met the King once,” she said. “He was but a small lad. Lord Eddard had brought his two boys with him on their way to White Harbor.  They were inseparable those two, one with auburn hair and blue eyes, the other with the grey eyes of the Starks of old .  He too looked much like lady Lyanna, I dare say even more than you do.”

Arya only smiled at that.

“I suppose he doesn’t remember me and neither will you.  Lords and ladies are much too busy for people like us.”

“The King worries about all his people,” Arya said in response.  “Has anyone from Castle Cerwyn or White Harbor come here to warn you about the threat?  Has word reached you about what is to come?”

“We’ve had a few men come and tell us about the army that comes North of the wall.  The army of the dead we were told.  As you can see there are not many of us and those who are left do not have time to get ready for an enemy no one has seen.  We are busy enough trying to survive day by day.”

“But it is true,” Arya told the old lady.  “All of it.  Both my brothers have seen the enemy, they are coming for us, they—”

“I don’t doubt it m’lady,” the old lady interrupted.  “But I know the stories of the terror that gripped  this land when the darkness fell.  My grandmother told me like her grandmother told her.  If the walkers are coming for us with their giant ice spiders, what chance do we have?”

“They came before,” Arya argued. “They came before and we are still here. That is the type of chance we have.”

“Aye, I suppose you are right. There’s no fight left in me tired ol’ bones, that’s all.”

“Winterfell will—” Arya stopped mid sentence as a pair of women entered the inn.

“You may want to tidy up, old Barb. Our King’s ships are about to dock.  This will be good business—” the youngest of the women stopped upon seeing Arya who focused her eyes on her porridge.

“Aye,” the old lady said turning away from Arya, “Any business is good business these days.  But I’ll keep an eye on you, I don’t want you turning this place into a whorehouse—” 

“We won’t offer anything that is not wanted,” added the young woman.

“The offering happens outside these walls, is that understood?”

“Aye, as you wished.  But you should be more grateful, men drink and eat more with the right type of company.”

“Be that as it may, I prefer things a certain way and I’m too old to change me mind.  Besides,” she added looking at Arya, “I don’t suppose the King will care much for whoring. Not if his father taught him well.”

“Does he not come from a whore?” asked the young woman. “He’s a bastard his father had with some woman who was not his wife.”

Arya stood up abruptly drawing attention to herself.  She was not sure what bothered her more:  the slight against Jon or the slight against her father.  Neither rung true to her.  She had seen much more of the world now, she had seen whorehouses and the men who frequented them.  Ned Stark was not such man.  And then there was Jon, whose mother could never be a whore in her mind.  

“A highborn lady, his mother was. Whoring was never a Stark thing, not even for the Wild Wolf and he was a lad who broke hearts as he went. But Starks do have tempers so mayhaps you best guard your tongue because words be carried by the wind and they may reach the wrong ears.”

The old lady turned towards the counter without looking at anyone, but Arya felt everyone else’s eyes on her.  The moment of fury had passed, she reckon that was the intent on the old lady’s part.  She was not there to deal with whores and their gossip, she was there to stop Cersei’s men from doing her bidding.  She was there because Bran had told her she should be.  She dropped a couple of silver coins on the table rather loudly and left without saying a word.  She felt the eyes still watching her as the door closed behind her.

 

She looked around and there was no sign of Ghost but she was not concerned, he would show up.  Especially if she needed him.  She headed towards the docks, noticing that some merchants had decided to defy the cold and snow to greet the approaching vessels.  And those vessels were now peaking through the fog.  She could not make out the details but they struck her as big and ornate, un-Stark like. She was thinking such when out of the corner of her eye, she spotted shiftiness.   She noticed a man in furs moved away from a small group, heading towards the main dock.  A short while after, the next man in the group also moved away and dispersed among the merchants.  The third man remained.

_They are covering their ground_ , she thought.  There were two scenarios that came to mind: in spreading themselves, they hoped to keep the attack contained and undetected, if one missed, another one would try their luck.  Or one or two of them would create a distraction, drawing attention away and isolating their victim for unobstructed access.  Arya looked around once more, there were not many people about but all seemed to be concentrated in the docks.  All positioning themselves within reach of any soul disembarking the vessels.  She grew uneasy but then remember that Jon had gone to Eastwatch.  Still, the lack of royal guard would not do.  She would make sure to correct the situation.

Arya headed towards the main dock.  Whatever the plan was, she was best positioned to stop them by anticipating their moves.  She was of small stature and girl besides, despite her clothing she would go unnoticed.  The chatter among the group grew louder, the vessels were now reaching full size to the eye.  The smaller vessel approached first, it was indeed ornate.  It reminded her of some of the vessels she had seen the rich men of Braavos own.  It didn’t look like the type of vessel fit for a Northern King and it wasn’t.  She was now clearly able to read its name: _Lady._   She wondered if Sansa had commissioned it to the Manderlys or if Jon had commissioned it for her.  Her thoughts on that were interrupted by the second and largest vessel approaching.  The imposing vessel was all black with the head of a White Wolf as a figure head.  The Stark banner flew proudly and Arya got caught in the moment like everyone else.  She almost believed, for a second, that she was about to see Jon.  

It took a while before anyone from _Lady_ emerged to the main deck but when they did, it was no one Arya recognized.  In fact, she wondered how the vessel had sailed with such a small crew.  It seemed to her, that only one of the guards was of the true North, the other men were from White Harbor and there were not guards though most could be trained as such, saved from a few older men.  She looked around and the few onlookers seemed to be disappointed, they had expected more.  Their eyes now focused on the _White Wolf._   Arya turned slightly to spot Cersei’s men, they waited along with everyone else. 

The black vessel had sailed with more men it seemed, but not by much.  Sansa had mentioned that Jon had sailed away with a small guard, apparently he had not thought to keep any of them with him on his way to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. _Fool_ , Arya thought.  She hoped with all her heart that he did not meet any trouble on his way back.

The commander of the guard, a tall and ragged man, disembarked alone.  He was met on the plank but a local elder man Arya had missed during her scrutiny of the dock.  The sound of the waves crushing made it impossible for her to hear what words were exchanged but soon the local man had nodded his head and turned around walking of the plank.  The commander went back and disappeared from view and though there was movement on the main deck no one else disembarked.

_Cargo_ , Arya thought.  They brought supplies back from their travels and there was no one from Winterfell to escort them back.  The oversight didn’t seem like something either of her siblings would do.  Just as she was thinking this, there was movement in the crowd and a number of armored men weaved around the sparse crowd. She could spot a battle-axe sigil on their leather armor.  _House Cerwyn_.  Soon more movement on the main deck, several men labored to carry a wooden chest through the deck towards the plank.  The Stark commander weaved through and waved the Cerwyn commander to come aboard.  A few words were exchanged, along with a parchment.  Soon Cerwyn men boarded the plank and relieved the Stark men from the weight of the chest.  Some minutes later they had managed to disembark and wasted no time in leaving the dock.  Cersei’s men, Arya noted, had not succumbed to curiosity and remained in their spot waiting for their target.  

The next half hour, saw the Moose of House Hornwood and the trees of House Tallhart make an appearance.  Each took a chest and departed.  It made sense, Winterfell lied beyond all three castles, it was best to move the cargo from this point on.  The rest, she assumed, was heading to Winterfell and would then be distributed accordingly to the castles in the vicinity.   The men on board, she noticed, were still laboring to bring the rest of the cargo to deck.  Soon they were joined by the few men who had sailed on _Lady_.

Arya heard the sound of wheels turning at a distance and the familiar neigh of horses.  _The carriages were going to have a tough time fighting through the snow_ , she thought.  Not long after the elder local man came back and waved to the Stark commander.  Arya’s senses went into alert, the men were finally disembarking and preoccupied as they were with the cargo, any one of them would be easy targets.  She searched each face as she could and she was still not able to figure out who among those men would need her help.  A small number were soldiers, Stark soldiers but the rest, well the rest just looked like . . . Mikken.

_Blacksmiths_ , Arya thought and she reached for Needle.  Mikken had been the one who had crafted Needle for her at Jon’s request.  Sansa had been overseeing the crafting of armor at Winterfell but she often complained that the current men lacked the skills necessary, hopefully these men were an improvement but if nothing else, most were strong men who would be able to fight if needed.

Three trunks had already made it to the dock and they kept moving towards the carriages.  Some local men had come to help with the load as the Stark men went back to deck for more cargo.  Arya glanced around trying to place each of Cersei’s men, she could no longer see the third man at the distance but the two closest were still there, staring at the disembarking men like everyone else.  You could see the disappointment in their eyes, no one looked like a King.

“Would you not stay?” asked the elder local man to one of the Stark guards. 

“We head to Winterfell right away.  Those were the orders.  A raven was sent and a Stark guard should meet us halfway.”

“You must be hungry.  We thought you would stay the night.”

Arya was not the only listening to the conversation intently.  The closest of Cersei’s men had come nearer.  Arya moved her hand towards the pommel of her sword.

“Daylight just broke and there is so little of it nowadays.  We must not delay—”

“The King!-” the old man exclaimed.

“His Grace—” tried the guard to explain.

“He does not look like a Stark,” interrupted the elder man as he looked towards the plank.  Everyone overhearing the conversation followed his eyes, including Arya.  “But he looks strong. A warrior.  A true wolf with all those furs.”

Arya saw the glimpse of a ghost, someone she figured lone gone.  He had not seen her but at a distance she could see why the old man would think of him as the Northern King.  He was wearing Stark amor, Stark fur.  _Jon_ , she thought.  _It must be his doing_. 

The man’s eyes were drawn downward in concentration, he helped carry one of the trunks but his footing was unsure.  _He’s never seen snow before_ , Arya thought.  He looked up only to see how far they had to go to touch solid ground, all his concentration was in not slipping in the patches of iced covering the dock.

Arya tried to think back to the last time she saw him and how they parted ways.  She had offered to be his family but he had turned her down.  _It was all for the best._   She smiled taking a good look at him as he passed by.  _Braavos would have never happened had he taken her offer._ The way people’s eyes followed him and made way as he passed by, no doubt others thought him their King as well. 

Almost lazily, Arya grabbed a dagger from beneath her cape as she noticed the first of Cersei’s man following Gendry and the other men carrying the last trunk.  She kept pace with him and positioned herself right next to him.  It took a single small cut of her blade on his hand, likely imperceptible to him or anyone on the bitter cold.  He would not feel the pain of the cut but his heart would stop any moment.  A clean death, a merciful death, or as merciful as Arya could be nowadays.  It was no use making a fuss in public.  Littlefinger would still know his plan had failed, perhaps he even had spies around. 

The first mercenary stopped abruptly, touching his chest in alarm.  Everyone else was too busy following the “king” to pay attention but Arya, she gave him a little smile.  Some time after, there was a thud that was faintly heard as the group reached the vicinity of the second mercenary; the first one now laid faced down in the snow. No one noticed. The second one had moved abruptly towards the group, he meant to strike quick and flee but Arya had turned into him almost at full force.  He felt her dagger penetrate his gut and cut his intestines in half.  He looked down only to see the impassive eyes of a slight girl.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I should look to where I’m going.”  

He wanted to grab at her, hurt her but for some reason his legs would no longer follow.  The moment she twisted away, dagger on hand, he felt his life slipping away as blood soaked through his furs.  

Arya could see Gendry ahead, closer to the third mercenary than to her.  She quickened her pace.  The group was within close distance to the last of carriages waiting for them.  

“Your grace,” a young boy approached Gendry and attempted to kneel.

The entire group came to a halt as Gendry, clearly startled, stopped.

“I . . .” Gendry started, confused.

That is when Arya saw the third mercenary approached Gendry from the back.  Everyone else was too busy with the sight of a young boy kneeling to notice the blade extending out from the man’s hand as he moved to stab the supposed King in the North.  She was too far.

“Gendry,” she heard herself shout.  

The slight turn of his body at his name prevented the blade from reaching its intended target but still the man’s blade penetrated Gendry’s body nonetheless.  If Gendry felt any pain, Arya could not tell.  His eyes, everyone’s eyes were trained on her.  Including the mercenary who quickly assessed the danger of her approach and tried to flee.  Arya’s blade landed where no furs could mitigate its damage.  The man landed face first on the snow, the blade sticking from his skull.  The waif had trained her well in the art of knife throwing.

The Stark guards who had been ahead of the pack with the first carriages approached the scene swords in hand, their eyes landed on the dead body and then on Arya who had by instinct retrieved Needle from her scabbard.  They moved towards her aggressively. 

“Don’t, she’s—” said Gendry forcefully, though his voiced cracked before he could finish.  He had turned white and had let go of his end of the trunk as he knees gave out.  He went down and with him the trunk and the rest of the men carrying it, losing their balance.

“Gendry,” Arya reached out to him but was grabbed by the guards who took Needle away.  “Let go,” she screamed at them as they restrained her.  “He needs help.”

“The King!” She heard the young boy shout.

“He’s not the King,” Arya shouted back lifting her gaze to look at the boy.  What she saw instead was the boy mesmerized by the giant white dire wolf who was standing, fangs bared, right in front of her and the restraining guards.  The guards let go of her by instinct and pointed their swords at the wolf. One of them took a step forward but was stopped by one of his partners.

“Don’t.  That’s—” he warned.

“Ghost,” Arya said firmly, “to me.”

Ghost padded his way to Arya but never took his red eyes away from the guards.  They instinctively took several steps back as did everyone nearby.  Ghost accepted Arya’s touch and then turned to stand next to her.

“Arry,” Gendry managed to say.

 Arya made his way to Gendry and knelt.

"Where were you hit? Show me,” she told him.  

Gendry tried to reach his wound underneath all the furs and leather armor but his fingers would not obey.  He felt no pain and yet he weakened by the moment.  He felt Arya’s gaze bore into him, expectantly.  He was disappointing her and why not?  He was on his knees, a grown man, and she a young girl, a high born lady at that, had survived the horrors of war on her own.

Arya observed the stiff movements of his fingers and moved to meet them.  _It is the cold_ , she thought.  _He’s not used to this type of cold and it is weakening him_.  She dismissed his hand and worked through the layers, till she found the wound.  It was smoking a bit and yet the cold somehow kept him from bleeding out.  Still, she had survived worst, he was going to be okay.

“I am Arya Stark,” she said out loud, intended for the guards and she looked up at them as if daring them to question her.  Their eyes though were focused on Ghost and she realized that he was all the proof they needed. 

“I’ve come from Winterfell to escort you back.  My brother sent word, he shall meet us there.  This man has been stabbed, help him unto a carriage.  He cannot ride or walk.”

“My lady,” the commanding guard started, “we were told that more guards would meet us halfway. Will they—”

“Yes. I grew impatient and left first and you should be glad I did.  This man is only alive because of me.”

The guard took a long look at the dead mercenary and then somehow spotted another body in the distance.

“Who would want to kill a smith?” he asked.

“Who indeed?” Arya said and left it at that.  She didn’t feel the need to explain that they’ve gotten the wrong man.  Whatever security concerns there were, and there were plenty, she would discuss with Jon first.  

 

Some time after, when the sun was blending into the horizon, Arya climbed to the carriage carrying Gendry.  He was been treated by the old woman from the Inn who Arya had convinced to join them.  She promised her good pay and a safe place to ride the coming storm.  

“How are you?” she finally asked her old friend.

“Can’t say is only a scratch I’m afraid but I will be fine.”  

“I’ve survived worst,” she added.

Gendry snorted which he regretted immediately, grabbing his side in pain.  Arya said nothing though she wanted to smile.

“I miss you m’lady,” Gendry said with a smirk and she finally smiled at that if only briefly.  Bran had been right, she was glad it was his life she got to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me forever to write, sorry for the long wait. It is long but I wanted to check-in a bit with the small folk as I think they are often forgotten in this saga. Arya just seemed like the perfect character to do it with. Besides she gets to hang out with Ghost (and soon Jon!) Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing fanfic. I'm basically doing it to get in the rhythm of writing again because I have unfinished projects that have stalled. Big fan of GOT and ASoIF, with all due respect to GRRM and the complex story and characters he created, this is just a fun exercise to see where I see the story heading. I will visit various characters but my main protagonist is one Jon Snow so naturally the story may favor him a bit. I may include pairings eventually but they may be based more on necessary alliances than love. I am going to pull from both the series and TV show, the story will pick up right after Jon is made King in the North.


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